


We Just Merely Get Swept Up

by Mysterious_Loser



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: A mole in the Citadel, Alcohol reference and use, Dense writing, Eventual non-graphic smut, Explicit Language, F/M, Gen, Headcanon - Nyx is the best big brother ever, I mean really slow burn, Inappropriate Humor, Insomnia's Hundred Years of Peace from a Civilian's Viewpoint, Like Toilet Humor, Male-Female Friendship, Minor Gladiolus Amicitia/Reader - One sided-relationship, Ridiculously stupid long chapters, Romance and Fluff, Slow Burn, Spoilers for all things Final Fantasy XV/Kingsglaive/Brotherhood, Surrogate sibling bonding, keeping secrets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-08-02 23:59:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 152,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16315181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mysterious_Loser/pseuds/Mysterious_Loser
Summary: Although not Kingsglaive, nor Crownsguard, somebody had to tackle the dirty jobs inside of the Citadel, and being a custodian had its perks, you believed: good pay, decent benefits, and an adequate retirement package.You could've lived this life for a long time through Insomnia's hundred-plus years of peace...Until you and your coworker busted a pipe and flooded Ignis Scientia's office, of course.





	1. It's Raining (on) Men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...this disaster has been a headcanon of mine for a long while now, and since Final Fantasy XV is set in a pretty modern world, I thought that it'd work rather well. Not gonna lie, though, I haven't posted fanfiction in a long time, save one big project I've been continuously working on, and I've never had the guts to post anything for Final Fantasy XV, so I'm pretty nervous about this crack work, ^^; This is also my first time writing in 2nd person POV, which wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. Please be kind to me and don't take this thing too seriously, though. I just thought it would be interesting to see the viewpoint from a civilian during the hundred years of peace. I also have mad respect for custodians and the cleaning crew, despite what the story may imply. You guys are the best!!!

**We Just Merely Get Swept Up**

**I.**

**It’s Raining (on) Men**

It was only the first day of spring cleaning, different in context than the phrase usually inferred, and already a custodial meeting had been called to order. It was nothing new in the three years you had worked for the Royal District, but each year proved to be more comical in the occupation than the last. Although considered spring in March, the second of April worked as an adequate day also.

You sat in between two of your coworkers at the Round Table in one of the staff dining halls. It was meant for the lower ranking employees of the Citadel, and, thus, had been informally dubbed as the “Mess Hall” by Reimund and Ermin, who each thought of themselves as entertainers on Insomnia’s grand stage. The onsite boss, Quinzi, wasn’t laughing. Neither were you, who had been clock-watching the past ten minutes. This was cutting into your work time, and your run was a particularly large one.

Most of the staff and Kingsglaive had cleared out, but the smell of that day’s menu, macaroni and cheese, rice, and chicken nuggets, permeated in the air. It was only two o’clock and already your stomach growled as a severe reminder that you’d forgotten to eat before arriving at work. You’d run late that day.

Quinzi, a mid-fifty-something man with square spectacles sat at one side of the table, almost at the head since no one was seated at either side of him. With a permanent frown that should’ve been tattooed onto his lips, he shifted through his blue and pink post-it notes, reading over them in near silence. You tucked your hands into your lap as you removed your eyes from the clock and replaced the view with Quinzi. He definitely looked pissed.

“So,” he cut through the grating silence, “I just wanted to open with the fact that I received a rather curt e-mail from Captain Drautos this morning.” Even from behind his glasses, Quinzi’s eyes pierced Chadwick, whose attention roamed the empty dining hall. “Any reason why we couldn’t vacuum the carpet in his office?”

The eyes of four other custodians, including yours, settled on Chadwick, his gaze fastened on a cardboard boat filled with half-eaten chicken tenders. Another fifty-something, who preferred the term, “quinquagenerian,” since it made him sound important, man with coke-bottle glasses and a graying mullet. Someone kicked him—maybe Ermin or Lambert—and he started from under the table.

“Glad to have you with us,” Quinzi said, tone flat. “Now then, Captain Drautos’ office?”

Chadwick adjusted his glasses and moved his hand to the collar of his dark gray uniform. Earlier in the year, the custodial uniform had been green, until complaints were received at the remarkable resemblance between custodians and the fast food workers at Lenny’s. 

Chadwick hummed. “Uh…what about it?”

You could tell your boss was trying to keep it together. In a shaky voice, Quinzi said, “The vacuuming. Or, the lack of, rather.”

The lazy roll of Chadwick’s eyes caused the other custodians around the table to laugh. Aside from Quinzi and Reimund, he was the oldest at the table, but certainly the most unique. There was Ermin, a Galahdian only a few years younger than Nyx and with more braids to boot, and Lambert, another Galahdian, middle-aged, and a very unattractive handlebar mustache. The former elbowed the other and whispered something only the two of them could hear. Now that you thought about it, most of your co-workers were from Galahd. It was like Nyx said, if one didn’t make it as a Glaive, the next best thing was custodial. You weren’t sure if you agreed with the sentiment, and you weren’t even from Galahd.

“Oh, uh…” Chadwick fidgeted with his glasses again. “That’s right. I got a call, see? Luche needed the Glaive training gate opened, and it’s been sticking for months.”

You couldn’t stop the quiver of laughter from forming on your lips. Nyx had complained of the same problem, and every time he radioed it in, Chadwick would waltz down to examine it as though he had nothing better to do. The only difference was that the problem remained without a solution in sight. Since it was painfully obvious that Chadwick was shirking his duties in order to observe the same problem over and over, Nyx stopped calling. So had Crowe.

And now, not only was your boss’ voice shaky, but the hands clenching the post-it notes were, too. The paper crinkled in between his fingers. You knew he had to watch what he said or how he responded. He had just gotten back from a week suspension by Human Resources under several custodial complaints of his charged behavior and unnecessary, belligerent shouting.

“Yes, okay…” Quinzi drew out. “But my next question would be why you haven’t told me that the training gate has been sticking for months. We can’t fix it if we don’t know.”

Chadwick’s face blanked for only a moment before activating with life again. “Oh. No, I wrote you a note.”

“I never received a note.”

You dropped your gaze into your lap, desperately attempting to hide your oncoming laughter, while the other custodians unabashedly guffawed at his expense. This was going to be a long custodial meeting, and Drautos’ room was only the first topic of many, it seemed.

\/\/\/

Fortunately, and, then again, not so much, the meeting was cut short to the radio call of a fire in the outdoors Glaive training gate. Some of the new Glaive recruits, who hadn’t yet learned to control their magic, sparked an inferno to spiral upward until an ember launched out and consumed a shrub inside the magnificent landscaping in the Glaive’s courtyard, primarily stocked with lower ranking employees. Quinzi shoved fire extinguishers in each custodian’s arms before sprinting out for the courtyard. The others followed, including you, but your pace slowed as you turned the extinguisher over again in your hands. You never had to use one before and had no clue how to activate it.

Your thoughts shifted to the sight of the black cloud in the courtyard, the thick plume of smoke trailing up into the sky. No one had arrived yet, which seemed strange. Quinzi and Chadwick pulled the pin at the top and aimed the extinguisher at the growing blaze. Two white streams jetted out of the hose, but did little to damage the growing fire. Ermin and Lambert pulled their pins and joined the fray. Even Reimund, through the physical defect of a single glass eye, managed to release his pin without trouble and fight the fire. With shaky hands, you ripped the pin from the hole, aimed the hose, and squeezed the trigger.

Relief fed through you as your extinguisher tackled the fire, albeit, not enough to bring the blaze down. Lambert circled around the flaming bush, then changed the extinguisher’s trajectory. You noticed it too late as the hose, now aimed at your face, exploded into a white cloud. The powder tasted of salt against your lips and burned your eyes, and you lowered the extinguisher. You couldn’t breathe, the combination of the powder and smoke engulfing you. It wasn’t until a fierce grip on your arm yanked you from the mix that you could begin to focus again. Quinzi stood next to you and you vaguely heard him tell you to stay back. The burning in your eyes forced tears to spill down your cheeks.

You dropped the extinguisher and coughed into your hands as your coworkers around you emptied their cans. Ermin’s was the last to go, and with great timing as Crowe, Pelna, and Luche arrived, blue magic dancing on each of their fingertips. The blizzard brought the blaze to a smoldering pile, and every set of eyes waited until the last red glow went out.

\/\/\/

Crowe wrapped an arm around your shoulders once the adrenaline of the situation died down, questioning your ability to stand, but didn’t have to wait long before Luche assigned the Glaives to bring him the recruits responsible, and Quinzi dismissed the custodians to their run, minus you, whom he asked to join him back in the custodial office.

Crowe’s gaze followed you until you rounded the corner, through the doors of the East Wing, and into the small office nestled between the staff bathrooms and the Glaive briefing room. You slowly closed the door behind you, a weight attached to your chest. Perhaps your boss intended to scold you for the lack of know-how in engaging something as simple as a fire extinguisher, despite your three years of experience.

He moved around his small, chipped desk, complete with an outdated computer, messy stacks of papers, and his trusty, teal notebook that he always carried around. In the last week, someone stuck a Li’l Malbuddy sticker on the back. You knew your boss to be a big fan of the cartoon, but didn’t believe that the sticker had been put on without malicious intent. It could’ve been Reimund, whom you deemed as the most likely, but, either way, Quinzi didn’t appear to be so inclined to remove it.

“There was something else I wanted to tell you before that all happened,” he said and seated himself in the faded, black recliner behind his desk. It groaned under his weight. In spite of all that happened, you felt your heart still rocking in your chest. You were amazed that he wasn’t in a similar state. “You’re going to be working the bigwig section of the Citadel today.”

It came off as almost hysterical the way he referred to the royals, the Crownsguard, and all of their advisers as “bigwigs,” but you found that you couldn’t display the humor you found in it. After all, your friends echoed the sentiment with “House Aristos.”

Your brows arched as the anxious weight in your chest disappeared. “Pardon?”

“I’m sorry it’s sudden and that you’ll be starting late on your shift, but Jaron asked if we could spare someone from our district to send up there for today and I believe that you’re the most capable.”

Jaron was the B District onsite boss of the sovereign jurisdiction in the Citadel, while Quinzi was the boss for C District and maintained the lower ranking employees and most of the sections that the Glaives occupied. There were a few other districts, like D District off the West Gate, F District down the Citadel South Wall, and E District by the East Gate. You had never met Jaron before, but heard rumors of him being a penny-pincher. He once refused to buy proper nitrile gloves for his custodians to use because he was saving money in his budget for a new auto scrubber to give King Regis’ hallway the shiniest shine that it deserved.

“I’ve never worked anywhere but C District,” you said, drawing the words from your mouth. “This is the site I was hired for.”

“On the contrary,” he began and swiveled in his chair until he stopped at the gray file cabinet behind him. “You’re technically hired as a custodian in the Royal District. Where you work is completely subjective. And be expecting to switch sites often. Thanks to our new custodial supervisor, a lot of changes are being implemented.” You felt sure that sarcasm was inclusive to his tone. 

From within the third drawer of the file cabinet, he pulled a single sheet from a folder, and passed it to you. You took it without a word, and raked your eyes over the contents. It was a map of the highest floors of the Citadel, all highlighted in yellow.

“Isn’t this Lajos’ area?” you asked, dropping the paper from your face.

“Yes, but he’s in the hospital. Got into a car accident yesterday.”

Your immediate retort was to question his condition, but, based on your boss’ expressionless face, you already knew the answer. You studied the paper again. Lajos used to work in C District with you, but accepted the transfer into B District. You wondered how he liked the change. After he left, you never spoke again.

“But, yes, be expecting many area changes,” Quinzi continued. “Later, we’ll probably all be helping out in A District for the Fantasy Faire and the Insomnian athletic matches.”

Again, you lowered the paper and didn’t look at it again. The Fantasy Faire and athletic games would be in the Citadel’s Community Center, a place big enough to be considered both a sports field and convention center. Last year, you and Nyx forwent the Fantasy Faire since you both had to work it, he with security and you with trash and restrooms. It had been one of the most disgusting experiences you ever had to encounter, and you considered yourself pretty well desensitized to piss, shit, and puke these days. This year, you both promised the other to call in well so that you could attend. You wondered what your boss would say, but didn’t voice the idea.

“All right,” you said and turned toward the door. “Guess I’m taking the shuttle to the Main Gate.”

“Thanks for doing this,” Quinzi said and returned to his papers. “And we’ll work on your reaction time to dealing with fires, starting with how to activate a fire extinguisher.”

You paused at the sudden memory recollection and Lambert’s aim of the extinguisher at your face before sighing and departing.

\/\/\/

The schedule change came as less than a pleasant surprise.

You, Nyx, Crowe, and Libertus had made plans to meet up at the Bazaar, a mellow bar and music venue in the ghetto side of the city. It was the only place classy enough to still be considered in good taste for Nyx, especially where music was concerned. Also, your favorite international band was playing there that evening. It was a wonder how a local joint like the Bazaar had managed to score a band like Le Spectre, who were usually seen via the big outdoor concert hall, but you didn’t care and wouldn’t miss it for all of Eos.

…Except for work, of course.

You exhaled through your nostrils as you shot Nyx off a text letting him know that you’d be off late while sitting at the last available seat on the shuttle, discouraged with your miserable luck. The only reason you were Quinzi’s favorite was because you were one of the two females among the entire thirty-five personnel that made up the six district’s custodial staff, and because you actually gave a crap about your job. Once the text went through, you reached up to gather your hair and folded it until the plastic hair clamp held it securely. Twisting the ends of your hair, you gazed at the split tips and made a mental note to have them trimmed soon.

Smoothing the dark gray shirt and adjusting your cargo shorts, you crossed your legs at the ankles, waiting for the chime of your phone to go off. The device appeared back in your hands the moment it did.

_**“Off late and working with the Big Dogs, huh? Who’d you piss off to get that lucky?”**_

You pursed your lips as you read his text. Quick fingers moved across the keyboard, vibrating with each click as you fired off a reply, _**“More like, how’d I become Q’s favorite custodian? Anyway, can you pick me up at 11:30?”**_

You had only shoved the phone into your pocket before the chime and vibration came, along with his answer.

_**“Band starts at 11. I don’t know how long they’re going for.”**_

A late night gig with the band you admired most. Insomnia was definitely a city that never slept, and most of the best concerts started long after children and the weary went to bed. You couldn’t ask for a better working shift, getting to spend that time watching people you admired. How lucky you thought you were, until you weren’t.

You tried to withhold the sigh as you stared at the text. It had been six months since Le Spectre had come back to Insomnia from Altissia and the Bazaar was offering an open mic night for courageous souls to follow after the band. You had finally gotten the nerve to bring your Lestallum Guitar after practicing on it for almost a year, and reserved a spot on the website’s online registration for right after the band finished playing. Why _now_ of all nights did you have to work so late?

You waited until after you exited the shuttle before releasing the groan into the open air that you’d been holding in for the last several minutes. Then your phone chimed again.

You could almost hear Nyx’s sigh in the text as you read, _**“Guess I’m bailing you out of trouble again.”**_ A smile spread across your face as the texts continued coming in, _**“Rolling trash out to the compactor and pushing a broom. No toilets, though!”**_

Although nearly a decade older than you, Nyx was the reliable older brother you never had.

\/\/\/

Jaron was just getting off duty as you arrived in his office. A sixty-something man ready for retirement, he made his disgruntled attitude toward custodial work more known than Quinzi, and showed you the same map you had already seen as he sat in his own black swivel chair, legs straddled as he leaned into the back cushion.

He clicked the end of a pen in and out several times as he spoke, “Most of the House Aristos’ meetings end at five, so check in and see if you can clean the briefing room then. If not, save it for the tail end of the shift.”

You colored yourself surprised at hearing an overseer in the district himself refer to the royals and their nobility as _House Aristo,_ a term that took you forever to realize as slang, and almost derogatory, for aristocrat. Quinzi enjoyed “bigwigs” and some of the Galahdians referred to them as something far worse. You stuck with House Aristo to fit in, even if you never said it allowed, except to your closest friends. Even working in the sovereign jurisdiction, tension and rankings still applied. You had never encountered it, having only ever worked in C District. It made you feel even more nervous hearing him put it that way.

You forced a nod and reminded yourself to stay calm, and recall all of the floors that were on Lajos’ route. Four full floors, twenty offices, five bathrooms, the briefing room, and a copy room with an adjoining kitchenette. How the hell could Lajos get this all done in an eight hour shift?

“If you need help, Harv starts his run on the twenty-eighth floor, right above the last one you’ll be cleaning.” Funny enough, you used to work with Harv before he transferred, along with Lajos. “You want me to take you up there?”

You shook your head, eager to get started. As it was, you were already an hour and a half into your shift with nothing to show for it. Even with Nyx’s help, you doubted that you could get it all done if you had more than an hour’s worth of work left by the time he showed up. And, he’d be pissed.

“I just need to know where the custodial closet is where I’ll be working from,” you said.

He took the map from your and marked it with the pen in his hand. “Here,” he said as he circled. “Twenty-seventh floor. It’s right in between Charlisa and Petrus’ offices. They’re on the High Council, so be sure not to do anything to piss em’ off, all right? Clean their rooms especially well.”

You struggled not to roll your eyes. It wasn’t as though your ever took your job lightly, and you hated staying late when you didn’t have to. Even though you were only a few years out of high school, you were persistent on getting a job at the Citadel, not knowing what you wanted to do with your life or if college was even an option. But the Citadel paid well, had benefits, and a great retirement package to boot. Since you didn’t possess the magical aptitude that Nyx did to make Kingsglaive, you went for the next occupation that didn’t require a degree or certification.

…Now that you thought about it, custodial didn’t sound all that glamorous when put next to the title of Kingsglaive. No wonder all of your other Galahdian coworkers were so bitter about it.

Shoving the thoughts from your mind, you cleared your throat and tapped your finger against the map when he handed it back to you. He also handed you a grandmaster key card for the area. 

You asked, “Any other important rooms I need to know about?”

“They’re all important. You’re cleaning in one of the most prestigious parts of the Citadel. The only floors that don’t get cleaned are the ones that King Regis roams around on. They’ve got their own private crew for that.”

Lucky them, you thought, not wanting to be the one who scrubbed out the king’s personal chamber pot every day. Knowing your luck, you’d do something wrong and he’d have you beheaded, or whatever it was that kings did to punish people these days. You’d never met His Majesty to know the answer to that.

“Anyway,” Jaron lifted himself from his chair and reached for your hand. He shook it once you gave it and continued, “Thanks for filling in on such short notice. I wish I could tell you to just clean the basics since you’re late getting started, but we’d get fired, you and me both. I don’t want that.”

You didn’t either. But this circumstance sucked, too.

\/\/\/

Basics included trash, bathrooms, and kitchens. Security also roamed that checklist, but you were unfortunate enough to have to clean it all, including the windows and the many unnecessary hallways.

Although already late, you decided to poke your head around on the twenty-eighth floor in search of Harv. You found him buried in the custodial closet, his thick, chocolate curls aimed toward you as he aimed the dispenser hose in the mop bucket, unaware of your presence.

“Bubba Blue,” you called out to him, hoping he would remember the inside joke the two of you had going while he was still in C District. You both created the persona of an accident prone custodian, named Bubba Blue. When things went awry and Quinzi became frazzled, you’d both blame it on Bubba Blue.

His head shot up and, upon seeing your face, a smile appeared on his own. “Bubba Blue,” he echoed in good spirits. His voice tinged with a Galahdian coastal accent. You sometimes had a hard time understanding him, but knew what he meant. “You’re working for Lajos? Did you hear about his accident?”

“Yeah,” you said and helped keep the door propped open for him as he shut off the water and wheeled the mop bucket out into the hall. “I’m pretty late getting started.”

His laugh came as half genuine and half snicker, although you weren’t sure which of the spectrum it honestly fell into. In the end, he gave you a quicker rundown of the area than Jaron, and it made a lot more sense coming from someone you already knew and had prior work experience with. He bid you off with a, “Later, Bubba Blue,” and you descended to the floor below in search of Lajos’ custodial closet.

He had absolutely nothing stocked. That, or he was hoarding, which was a custodial problem you had in your own work district. No trash bag liners, no disinfectant, no all-purpose cleaner—Not even any window cleaner for Astrals’ sakes! You quickly sifted through all of the messy shelves in the closet and grabbed everything you could cut corners with, just for tonight, you told yourself. You never cut corners when it came to cleaning, and you didn’t dare want to cut corners being in a prestigious part of the Citadel. At the end of twenty minutes, you had a trash cart and a chemical cart, and that one was filled with all of the basics you could find, including a roll of trash bags that were far too big for any of the trash can liners in the hallways, much less the personal sized cans you knew you’d find in the offices.

You would see how things went, you told yourself. By now it was after four o’clock with nothing but a sad looking chemical cart to show for it.

\/\/\/

You managed to jam all 43 x 47 parts of the trash bag liner into a can that called for something more equipped for a grocery bag. Luckily, neither Charlisa nor Petrus were in their offices when you changed out the liners in their trash cans. You told yourself to avoid having to do this again by making sure that the inside of the liners were clean and free of gum after you dumped them and had no tears at the bottom of the bag. That way, you wouldn’t have to embarrass yourself in case anyone walked in and you would save time.

After finishing the trash collection, you shoved the trash cart into the custodial closet for when Nyx arrived after his shift, since he offered to wheel it down to the compactor for you anyway. You had just stepped into the third stall of the bathroom you were cleaning when a knock came to the open door from the hall.

“Excuse me,” echoed a man’s voice, tinged with a kind of formal accent you weren’t used to hearing from your other coworkers. Not Galahdian, for you knew most of their accents, and not from Accordo, as you spent countless hours swooning and listening to each of the band members from Le Spectre during online interviews, so you knew their enunciations and pronunciations by heart.

You also became acutely aware as to why the man had called out from behind the door, considering you were in the women’s bathroom and he was not clearly equipped to come in.

“Ah,” you said as you peeked out from inside the stall, eyes framed toward the door. “There’s no one in here if you need to come in.”

A moment later, a tall, well-dressed man in spectacles appeared in the doorframe. Probably one of the House Aristos Jaron mentioned by the look of things. Everything about him screamed it from his pressed, black suit, to the shine of his boots. His sandy blonde hair glistened softly from the gel in it as it stood in spikes at the forefront of his head and slicked in the back. You thought he appeared uncomfortable by the way he fidgeted with his glasses and how he wouldn’t meet your eyes.

“Would you mind stepping outside, please?” he asked and disappeared behind the wall.

You stifled a sigh, not wanting to offend this young House Aristo looking guy. He couldn’t be any older than you—not much, anyway, but his demeanor spoke in different tones. You pulled the cheap gloves from your hands that had been in Jaron’s collection—they ripped before you could even get a finger out from inside—and wiped your sweat slick hands on your cargo shorts. It was a good thing that he wasn’t watching anymore. He’d probably judge you for it.

You were just getting a good, steady pace going, too. What poor timing.

By the time you stepped out into the hall, he was already moving in the opposite direction.

“Apologies, but it seems that I’ve misplaced my key card and am locked out of my office. Would you mind opening my door for me?”

The least he could do for interrupting your work was wait, but he appeared too busy to do even that. You bit into the side of your cheek and hurried after him. He kept his brisk pace with no regard to where you stood and rounded a corner at the end of a hall that you had forgotten to detour down during your trash collecting. Damn. Now you’d have to backtrack after you were finished with the bathrooms. You weren’t quite as ahead as you thought you were.

Finally, his eyes darted sideways at you. “You’re not the usual custodian who cleans my office, are you?”

“No,” you replied, trying to collect yourself. The moment you felt a bead of sweat trail down the side of your head, you realized how discomposed you probably looked in front of him in an effort to make up for lost time. It was a little embarrassing, actually. The only people you ever had to work around were lower ranking personnel, and the Glaive weren’t exactly considered to be much higher. “He got into a car accident.”

“Oh, that is unfortunate,” but his voice sounded genuinely concerned—more than you would’ve expected from a man in his stature. “He’s in stable condition, I hope?”

You shrugged, but realized that he wasn’t looking at you to be able to see it. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “I haven’t heard, but I know he’s still alive.”

“That’s good news, indeed.” He stopped in front of a grand wooden door. You gave pause only to realize that you felt rather intimidated looking at it, much less the idea of having to actually _touch_ it. In gold letters, etched across the top, read, _Scientia_. “I trust they’ve given you a grandmaster key?” he asked after a moment of you stalling.

“Oh.” You fumbled with the key card around your neck before lifting the lanyard over your head and sliding the card through the reader. “Yeah, sorry.”

He was quick to open the door, but remarked with a, “My thanks.” 

Then he turned on his heel to give you a onceover, as though he could scarcely believe that a woman was fit to do this line of work. Or, that’s what you thought he could be thinking, anyway—especially with your cheeks beet red from the heat, the sweat trailing down your face, and the way you were certain that your hair looked as though you had stood in front of a power fan before he found you.

One end of his lips pressed down. Oh, yes, here it came—the official House Aristo scowl. You had never had one of those before, and you were lucky enough to receive one on the very first day of working in the high end of the Citadel.

“By the way,” he drew out, “if I may request a second favor.”

“Yeah?” you replied, perhaps, a little too hastily. You didn’t care. You needed to get back to work.

“The custodian who normally cleans my office has a rather poor habit of simply lining my rubbish bins without taking care of tying them off. It certainly makes it rather difficult when tossing papers or other such things, as the liner falls straight to the bottom of the receptacle. Could I, perhaps, persuade you to tie off the liners for me, please?”

It took you a moment to translate all of the eloquent talk in your head into something a little more manageable. So, Lajos never tied off the trash can liners, and they fell in whenever Mr. Aristo here threw his trash away? Why couldn’t he just say it like that instead of making it sound all fancy? Oh, you thought, because he came from a Royal House, that was why.

“Yeah, of course,” you told him, mind panicking because you remembered that you didn’t have any liners that would fit his _receptacles_ anyway. You had a little bit of time before you had to come back to the hall that you missed. You’d figure it out by then. “I’ve gotta finish the bathrooms and I’ll swing down this way.”

“Much obliged,” he replied and closed the door in your face. Not rudely, or anything like that, but you thought it to be rude anyway. After all, you were late and now you had to spend an extra trip finding appropriate sized trash liners.

\/\/\/

Harv was kind enough to give you a roll of his small trash can liners so that the Aristo could be happy. It also made you happy because you didn’t have to waste time stuffing a trash bag four times too big into a bin. The best part was that, by the time you went back to his office, he had left. Mr. Aristo’s office was split into two sections, much bigger than the other offices you had to clean, and only slightly bigger than High Council members, such as Charlisa and Petrus. How he had managed to score an office so big, you thought you could go the rest of your life without having to find out.

After all, it was nine forty-five and Nyx still hadn’t shown up yet. The worst part about it was having to forgo your breaks and lunch just to ensure that you would get off work on time. You tried not to remind yourself that you hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and, even then, it had only been a slice of toast and some eggs.

You fought the urge as long as possible, but couldn’t stand it anymore and fired off a, _**“PLEASE bring me some food when you get here,”**_ text to Nyx at eight-thirty.

At ten to ten, your phone chimed with a reply. _Finally._

_**“What floor are you on?”**_

You slipped the cheap ass gloves from your hands, wiped your sweaty palms all over your shorts, and text him back, _**“Twenty-seventh. In front of the copy room.”**_

_**“I don’t know where that is. Meet me in front of the elevator instead.”** _

You snarled at the phone, even knowing that he would never see it, and the phone didn’t really give a damn over your exasperations at not having your work done. You still had to run the auto scrubber in every hallway, take out the trash, and clean the windows. If you were lucky, you could force Nyx to help you with the windows while you ran the machine.

The elevator doors opened to reveal a tall man in Kingsglaive uniform, holding a brown bag in his hand. Nyx found your eyes, the ghost of a smile in each iris to match the real one on his lips as he placed the paper bag in your arms.

“From Libertus. I told him to bring two from Rye’s. I think it’s fish and chips or something.”

You clutched the bag to your chest and tried to resist salivating. You couldn’t help it, though. You loved Rye’s fish and chips. The fish was usually a type of Barramundi that the owner would catch himself, and the batter was a secret recipe, but you knew that it was beer battered because one of the cooks let it slip one time.

As you peered into the bag, ready to devour the goods, Nyx stopped you with his voice, “So, what do you have left?”

Oh. Closing the bag, you gestured to the custodial closet, “The trash cart is in there, and I was hoping that you’d clean the windows while I ran the auto scrubber.”

He gave you a look you knew well and it stank of disapproval. He liked cleaning windows as much as he liked cleaning toilets. Still, he said, “I didn’t realize how high up in the Citadel you were working. I got stopped a couple of times on my way up here. I’ll clean windows, but you’re gonna have to take the trash out.”

Your grip on the lip of the bag tightened as the realization of where you were sank in. Security wasn’t as tight on you in C District because you both worked there, and everyone was used to seeing Nyx help out from time to time. Here, in the middle of one of the most important parts of the Citadel, you, at least, were a stranger, and realized how peculiar it would be for security to see a Glaive wandering around with no real reason or intended destination—especially with a trash cart in tow. For the sake of your job and his, it would be best to keep him close to avoid suspicion with him wandering about.

You showed him the closet and the windows that needed cleaning while you munched on the fish and chips he brought. You scarfed them, wiped the grease on your already grimed-up shorts, and searched the map for the compactor. Harv already left for the night, so you couldn’t ask him. The rest of the corridors fell quiet, as most had all left for home or their private quarters inside the Citadel. Nyx finished the windows as you started your second floor with the machine, and he offered to help pack things up so that you both could get out of there just a little past ten-thirty. You dropped the key card off in Jaron’s desk and offered a silent thought of relief at never having to come back again. Even if Quinzi said you’d be changing locations like musical chairs, you doubted you’d see this place again so soon. As the two of you left together, he in Glaive uniform and you in custodial, you garnered several looks from the guards in the lobby, and waved to them for good measure.

They didn’t wave back.

\/\/\/

“Thanks again,” you mumbled from the passenger seat of Nyx’s company car. It was meant for the passage of higher-ups, which you were most definitely not, but he still had it at the end of his shift and thought to return it after the show that night. You figured he’d get in trouble for it, but he didn’t seem to care.

He sped down the road, the glow of the city lights highlighting his prominent facial features, like his nose and strong jawline. He had since ditched the Glaive jacket and you your uniform shirt in the back seat. Now, you both looked like casual Insomnia music-goers. 

“No problem,” he said, thumb lightly drumming the steering wheel. “You think you’ll be back to your normal run tomorrow?”

“I should. Quinzi didn’t mention having to work the high part of the Citadel again.” Your eyes wandered to the bright city lit skyline and mumbled, “Wonder who they’ll get to replace Lajos until he recovers.”

He slowed the car at a red light, then made the next left toward Ghetto Insomnia. It wasn’t called that, of course, but you both joked about it. Even Crowe agreed, all while adding that the best food could be found in Ghetto Insomnia.

“Those uppity-ups don’t have a smidge of talent when it comes to Rye’s fish,” she, on more than one occasion, claimed. “And Yamachang has a taste of Galahd they could never hope to match.”

You weren’t from Galahd and had never been there, so you wouldn’t know. But you _had_ traced your family tree back far enough to discover that you were a fraction Accordian, which you were very proud of.

You also lived in Ghetto Insomnia, in a trailer park that would be considered an hour walk from the Citadel. Although a hack-n’-slashed together two bedroom trailer with two bathrooms that _any_ modest person would kill for, you could afford it all by yourself, which was pretty impressive in Insomnia. 

Nyx pulled into your trailer park, right next to your muted blue colored jalopy car with a major power steering leak. You refrained from driving it often since the leak often drew the attention of law enforcement, the smoking coming from under your hood a telltale sign that you were about to go up in flames. More than once had you been pulled over and, after calmly explaining that, no, your car _wasn’t_ on fire, it was just the burn-off from the leak, they would scold you about getting it fixed.

You spent the money on a beautiful Lestallum guitar instead.

Nyx let you out to grab your guitar case from inside the trailer hallway before putting it into the back seat and jumping into the car.

“You think you’re good enough to out-jam these guys?” Nyx deadpanned, but you knew that he was just as eager to see you on stage as you were. 

He had been forced to listen to your horrendous playing for the first four months of your guitar venture, but, after seeing all of the cool tricks and riffs you could belt out on the thing, you felt he had complete faith in your abilities.

You shrugged, trying not to think about it. In truth, the idea of playing behind Le Spectre scared the living Shiva out of you. He must’ve known, because he reached over to grip your shoulder and give a playful shake.

“C’mon, Danny!” He laughed and continued, “Have some faith in yourself, why don’cha?”

His laughter was contagious and, before long, you were laughing, too. He called you "Danny," and was the only one allowed. When you first met Nyx, it had been while you both were working. You remembered the day—wondered if he did—because it was your second day on the job and Quinzi had assigned you to work the Insomnian Chocobo and Moogle Festival Parade. It was nowhere near as flashy as Altissia’s festival, but it came pretty damn close. Most of the festivities had taken place at the Community Center, and Nyx, along with several other Glaives, were tasked with protecting the royal family.

Long story short, a tyrannical chocobo escaped from the parade and bulleted down the strip, far from the parade. You had been in control of one of the 4x6 utility vehicles, and, damn, could that thing haul ass. Quinzi swore that it wasn’t meant to go off-roading, but that didn’t mean that it couldn’t. You followed the runaway chocobo up onto the sidewalk, through alleys, and even up and over a company loading dock. Nyx had been pursuing the chocobo from the other side of the street, and you nearly ran him over—would have, actually, if he hadn’t had the better reflexes (which you didn’t. Yours sucked under pressure, in fact, but _only_ under immense pressure. Like…getting ready to run someone over type of pressure.), and warped into the passenger seat beside you. You were so startled that you almost overcorrected the vehicle.

He appeared just as startled, but gave you directions that you followed well enough to get him close enough to the chocobo. He leapt from the open door and onto the bird, saving the parade. All you had gotten out of it was a severe interrogation from Quinzi, who wanted to know why there was a fat split in the headrest of the seat from where Nyx had hurled his kukris into it.

Later, as you cleaned up after the parade, Nyx approached you to thank you for your help, and then your name. You lied at first, worried over the consequences of nearly running over one of the Kingsglaive. You rattled off your stage name, the first thing that came to mind and then mentioned that you were only subbing in for a custodian who was sick. Big lie. Danica Heartport, you told him, as cliché as it got, and it was the stage name you promised to give yourself the moment you actually put on a show. Which you hadn’t. But you were in the process of making it happen. Only later did you realized that he knew you were lying, since your name was on your uniform, but he played along and you had been Danny ever since.

How that had formed a three year friendship with someone you considered your big, big brother, you couldn’t say, but certainly was welcomed.

\/\/\/

Nyx pulled into the overflow parking lot, away from the majority of the cars, but under a large lamplight. You knew him well enough by now that if he felt the need to break the rules, like not returning a company car at the end of his shift, he would try to keep it as safe as possible. And, apparently, bright lights deterred carjacking. Or, so you thought. And obviously he did, too. You grabbed the guitar case from the back seat and looped the strap over your shoulder.

He glanced from his phone to the side of the building, and motioned for you to follow.

“Libertus and Crowe are up front,” he said and quickened his pace. “Le Spectre hasn’t started yet. Guess they’re running late.”

You joined him at his side, eyes taking in the sights of the rows of cars in the main parking lot, as well as the overflow. The Bazaar was a popular place among the less rich folk, and even more among Galahdians. When the season was right, the outdoor venue shined, like it did on this April night, the air not too hot, and definitely not too cold. Colorful bulb lamps hung from thick wire around the area sectioned off by the stage and potted plants. A manmade pond sparkled in the bulbs’ lights behind the stage, smelling of Carp fish.

You spent all of your time outside whenever you came to the Bazaar, but the inside was nothing to sneer at, either. Built entirely from brick and cast iron windows to give it a Leide feel, you loved the earthy, desert atmosphere from the rustic tables and furniture, as well as the pictures of old farmhouses and gates taken from around the corners of Leide. There was even a picture of Hammerhead Outpost, which didn’t add to the Bazaar vibe, but the famous mechanic there, Cid, used to frequent the venue all the time in his earlier days. It made you wonder how old the Bazaar really was, and if it had always been the Bazaar.

Crowe spotted you both before Libertus and waved you over to the table they were sitting at, closest to the stage. It sent a combination of jitters and euphoria through you to be so close to the band you admired most. More than that, you were happy that they were still humble enough to play at such a low end venue instead of living it up at Insomnia’s biggest stadium. Nyx and Libertus high-fived and you set your guitar in between you and Crowe. The men sat together and you scooted your chair closer to her.

“How are you doing?” she asked without delay. Your mind reeled to the meaning of her words, then decided that you were overthinking it.

With a roll of your shoulders, you said, “Had to work the high end of the Citadel today.”

Her eyebrows lifted in genuine surprise. “Is that right? Why?”

“One of my coworkers got into a car accident and he’s out. I should be back at my usual post tomorrow.”

“Speaking of usual…” She lifted a hand to your cheek and brushed something away with the tip of her thumb. “You’re covered in white. Was that from earlier?”

“Yeah, I noticed that, too,” Nyx interjected, cutting off his conversation with Libertus to join yours. “I thought it was just some custodial chemical you got all over yourself.” His eyes flickered to yours with a smile attached.

Crowe, on the other hand, wasn’t smiling. “What? No, you heard about the fire outside our training area, didn’t you?” From the blank look on his and Libertus’ faces, it was clear that they hadn’t. “A couple of newbies were practicing their magic and one moron set the courtyard on fire. Instead of going to help put it out, they hightailed it out of there.”

You found yourself listening less to her words and more on your appearance. Rubbing your face and hair, you couldn’t stifle the groan pent up in your chest. The powder from the fire extinguisher was still all over you? You never even noticed it, even while cleaning all of the bathroom mirrors. Master of observation right there. So every House Aristo you greeted, Jaron, and the security guards all saw you in a powder that could’ve taken a really bad turn, something of the drug paraphernalia kind. You had been so worried about looking all sweaty and gross in front of the man whose door you opened, and, even more than that, you were covered in white powder.

No one listened to you when you asked, “Do I look okay? I don’t want Le Spectre to think I’m trash when I get up there.” Stifling your annoyance, you lifted yourself from your seat, intent on making a beeline for the bathroom.

You halted when Nyx’s attention shifted back to you, his eyes much sterner this time around, quite accented by the frown on his lips. Uh-oh. Gently, you set yourself back down. The bathroom could wait.

“You were involved with putting out the fire today?” he asked, his tone something you knew better than to be coy with. Still, you couldn’t help it.

“I’m a custodian,” came your reply. “They called and I went. I’m pretty sure Lambert intentionally shot the extinguisher right at me, though. That explains why I’m covered in this crap.”

“That can be really dangerous, actually,” Crowe said, matching Nyx’s serious face. “By the time I got there, you were doubled over and looking really bad.”

Were you doubled over? You didn’t remember that. But that powder tasted something awful, and you definitely remembered having a difficult time breathing.

“She was coughing and had tears rolling down her face,” Crowe went on, and it almost felt like she was snitching to Nyx rather than recounting the situation. It hadn’t been that bad, had it? Stupid stuff like this happened all the time in custodial. This was trivial compared to what the Glaives went through on a daily basis.

But, the more she talked, the quieter Nyx got until he was no longer looking at you. Apparently, Luche found the culprit Glaives hiding out in the briefing room, and, Titan, did they get it. Also, it appeared that the reason your department had been the first on scene was because of a communication error. It really had seemed that the culprit Glaives were going to help, but then it had just been you, Quinzi, and the others. Great teamwork there.

You changed your perspective the moment the first drum strike broke through and Le Spectre arrived on stage, quieting Crowe and the ill-favored conversation. Nyx’s mood didn’t pick back up, however. With any and all bad luck that found you, you would be getting an earful after the show tonight.

\/\/\/ 

The adrenaline kept up long after the band stopped off for an intermission. You felt pumped, and it wasn’t just because of the alcohol you and Libertus were consuming. It was nothing new between the two of you, he challenging you to one of his favorite beers, and you to him. Crowe often reprimanded him for taking advantage of someone so much younger than he, but, tonight, she lectured him on a different accord.

“She’s supposed to play here in less than an hour.” She made her point by gesturing to the guitar nestled between your chairs.

“Bah, she’s a big girl.” Libertus chinked his bottle with yours and chugged.

You didn’t feel so much drunk as you did mellow. Whichever case it was, it definitely took off the edge you had in the car. You felt like you could take on open mic night, or that fire from earlier, or that House Aristo who unjustly gave you the stare down because you were covered in extinguisher powder. Pffft. It wasn’t like _he_ had gone out to fight a fire. Stupid House Aristo.

Nyx nursed his drink while he watched you, but his mood perked up after the second beer.

“Slow down,” he told you like you didn’t already know. Big brother Nyx, always to the rescue.

“I know what I’m doing,” you retorted and waved the beer in his face.

He positioned his lips into a self-satisfied smirk, one that only came about when the two of you were about to agree to disagree. “Yeah, we’ll see about that when you make a fool of yourself in front of Le Spectre. At least your self-doubt seems to have disappeared.”

You snorted louder and less ladylike than you intended. Sometimes, you just wanted to sock him, whether he was right or not.

“Well, now there’s a sight,” Crowe said, her eyes directed over Libertus’ shoulder. 

You followed her gaze, and Nyx and Libertus turned to do the same. There, at a table two over behind yours sat a man with dark, wild hair, donned in a black tank top with tattoos up and down his arms. He appeared tall, even towering over the two men at his table while sitting. You pegged him at about your age, maybe a couple of years older, but no more. He chuckled with his buddies, one a short haired brunette and the other with sandy blonde hair.

“Are those the two recruits who set the courtyard on fire?” Nyx asked without removing his gaze. “I saw them with Luche earlier. Guess it would make sense why he was yelling at them.”

“Yup,” Crowe pulled from her lips, followed by a slow nod. “And it seems they’ve found a friend with the prince’s Shield.”

“Shield?” Libertus choked out. “No way.” He was the first to turn back toward the center of the table. “I didn’t realize that the Crownsguard were so buddy-buddy with the Glaives.”

“Yeah,” Nyx said. “I heard he wasn’t a fan.”

“Hmm…” Crowe lifted the lip of her wine glass to her mouth. “I guess alcohol’s considered common ground.”

You stared at the one your friends had dubbed the, “prince’s Shield.” You knew one existed, but had never seen Dude’s face, especially in the flesh. He laughed with the two responsible for that day’s fire, bumping elbows with one and chinking his beer bottle with another. He looked nothing like the Royal Bigwigs you’d seen during your shift, wearing long robes of gold and purple, or black suits with spectacles. It made you think that, hours ago, this man was probably somewhere up in the high halls of the Citadel—perhaps even the ones you were cleaning in—and now, here he was, in the scuzzy side of Insomnia, drinking with people well beneath him, and listening to some bitching music.

You shrugged and took a drink. “At least he has good taste in beer, venue, and music.”

The eyes of your friends found you and Libertus scoffed.

The larger Glaive leaned close enough for you to hear over the noise of the crowds around you, “You haven’t been around it, Danny, the prejudice against us Galahdians. To them, we’re nothing but trash, but they keep us ‘round ‘cuz we can use the king’s power, see?”

You allowed a pause to pass around the table, ignoring the fact that both Nyx and Crowe were glaring at him.

Then, with as much seriousness as you could muster, you said, “Hey, now, everyone hates us custodians.”

“Oh, come _on,_ ” came Crowe first.

“Don’t egg him on,” Nyx said to you and then knocked Libertus’ leg with his own. “And only _I’m_ allowed to call her ‘Danny.’ Find your own nickname.”

For Nyx’s sake, or, perhaps the fact you knew he was probably still sore with you, you dropped the subject. But it still burned through you as you churned Libertus’ words around in your head like a cauldron. There was a reason you felt comfortable working in the part of the Citadel where no one important knew you and no one important, save Captain Drautos, you supposed, worked there. You had heard the rumors of the _stupid custodians_ who were lazy, or couldn’t do their jobs. That was most definitely why Captain Drautos’ office hadn’t gotten vacuumed last night. That was fine. In your eyes, they were all just—as Jaron, you and so many others put it— _stupid House Aristos._

And then, you realized with horror, that one of those stupid House Aristos was about to listen to your sham of a Lestallum Flamenco.

Suddenly, that uneasiness was back, and hit you like a stampede of dualhorns. Polishing off your drink, you slammed the bottle down on the table and rose to get another from the bartender before anyone could stop you.

\/\/\/

The night just wasn’t on your side.

Along with the stupid House Aristo seated between the Glaives responsible for that day’s fire, band members from Le Spectre decided to stay for open mic night on the pretense of free drinks—of _course_ for free drinks. What idiot in Eos wouldn’t bust a tab for one of the hottest and most acclaimed bands in Accordo? Even your buzz had been smashed under the weight of stage fright, sobered by the stardom you were feeling toward the presence of the band. You felt betrayed by the gods, even though, in all actuality, this was really what you wanted all along. Like the plot twist to some stupid novel you’d read in high school. The part where the bad guy was your father all along.

The staff at the Bazaar were kind enough to bring out a stool for you while you hooked your guitar up to the amp that Le Spectre had touched right before you. It sent a jolt of electricity through you, almost as though you could feel their fingers piercing you right now.

The noise from the crowd persisted behind you while you worked to set up the stage. You had only done this a handful of times before, never really making it to the stage for a live performance. Outside of Nyx, you had no other spectators, and only he knew how you were possibly going to sound tonight.

That, of course, did all but make you feel better.

Your hand shook at the neck of the guitar, and hoped no one would notice. That thought came to fruition as another round of drinks came out to the prince’s Shield’s table—something a little harder, it seemed. The Glaives appeared thoroughly trashed, but the Shield himself appeared like he could handle a drink or ten. From time to time, Crowe and Nyx would glance at the partying table, who looked like they were eating up all of the excitement, but Libertus kept to himself, chatting with the other two, or looking at you.

After several minutes of setup, you found yourself seated on the stool, heels pressed into the crossbar until you were sure it would break. You hoped that no one would notice your anticipation until after you strummed the first chord, but the crowd quieted, as though you had cast some kind of silence spell upon them. Your heart raced in your chest, enough to throw you off your mental tempo, and you couldn’t hold the guitar properly in shaking hands. You even fumbled with the guitar pick right as you began.

“Hell yeah!”

Your head shot up at the unfamiliar cheer, and the Shield pumped fists into the air as though punching an invisible bag above him. Then he whistled and egged you on. Slouching, you turned your gaze back to the guitar. You lied, you told yourself, that guy couldn’t handle ten plus drinks after all. But if the Shield was drunk, then he wouldn’t remember this night at all, nor you, for that matter, if you happened to bump shoulders next time at the Citadel.

Taking a deep breath, you pinched the pick between your fingers and plucked the first chord the way you did so many times alone. Then, Nyx’s words flowed through your head like a gentle breeze, the last thing he told you before pulling into the parking lot.

_“Pretend it’s just me sitting there. The way we’ve always done it.”_

It didn’t help, but you tried it anyway.

The first chord led into the second, and the second into the third until you had a steady rhythm going. The noise rumbled through the amp in beautiful waves as your rendition of _Lestallum_ _Fantasma_ filled the air. It was the first song you ever learned to play, and still your favorite. Eyes shot up to meet Nyx’s, who watched you with a sharp intensity. It was familiar and exhilarating, just like the first time he listened to you play, when it really _was_ just you and him in the front room of your trailer, where you had your guitar and boom box set up in the corner for months.

As much as you wanted to let your eyes roam the crowd to see Crowe and Libertus’ reactions, who had never heard you play, or to see if Le Spectre thought you could flamenco out with the best of them, or even Shield boy back there, you kept your attention solely on Nyx, whose lips drug into a massive grin. His head bobbed with the beat and you caught his fingers drumming along the tabletop.

His contagious grin had you grinning, and you felt confident enough to leave his gaze to return to the beast of an instrument in your hand. You alternated your fingers across the strings, mentally hearing the song as your muscle memory followed behind. By the time you finished, you were off of the stool and decided to try out that cool trick of playing behind your back that you had been practicing relentlessly for weeks. In the end, you missed only two notes, but doubted that anyone noticed.

Applause is what you had hoped for, but a standing ovation never crossed your mind. When you received both, plus whistles and cheers from the crowd—even from Le Spectre, Bahamut’s ass!—you could’ve died happy.

\/\/\/

Nyx helped you clean up so that the staff could prepare for the next open mic participant, and he walked with an arm slung over your shoulder back to the table.

“You were great, Danny,” he said into your hair as he side hugged you and took the guitar from your hands.

Still high from the exhilaration, you received hugs from Libertus and Crowe with an automatic return.

“You never said youse was practicing,” Libertus accused, his eyes darting back and forth between you and the stage. A modestly dressed man took the stage, an acoustic Lucian guitar in his hands. Libertus’ gaze met Nyx, who offered you a beer he had been saving, apparently as an after show congratulations. It was better than flowers, anyway. You accepted it, graciously. “Nyx, you never said she was practicing,” Libertus continued.

Nyx shrugged and pressed his mouth against the lip of his own bottle.

In the end, Le Spectre left without giving you the compliment you had imagined and hoped for, but the prince’s Shield staggered his way to your table, and leaned in between Libertus and Crowe, obviously not caring that he was interrupting. You caught his eyes mid-drink and put the bottle down to smile wryly at him.

“Damn, you really nailed it,” he said with a minor slur. You definitely caught the glossy look in his eyes and wondered how drunk he really was. “Haven’t heard a jam like that in a while.”

Perhaps it was the alcohol making you antagonistic, or the fact that you knew his face while he didn’t know yours, but, before you could catch yourself, you said, “That can’t be true. Le Spectre played tonight.”

He played off your retort easily enough and extended his hand, “Name’s Gladio.”

At least you had a name to put to the face of the prince’s Shield, you thought to yourself as you told him your own and shook his hand. Your friends said nothing as they watched him, Nyx with curious eyes, you noticed. You could recognize that look anywhere.

“Was wonderin’ what it would take to hire you and your gorgeous guitar for a gig,” Gladio continued. “See, it’s my birthday tonight, but none of my buds, save those two, could come out for a round.” Your eyes meandered to the Glaives, who stared at you and your friends. Without a doubt, they recognized your cohorts, or were really stupid if they hadn’t.

“So, what are you thinking?” you asked and hoped you didn’t sound as drunk as you did in your head. 

You also knew to watch your step in this neck of the woods. The last thing you wanted to do was offend your closest friends by buddying up with the prince’s retainers, tensions being high and all. But, if Gladio was spending time with Glaive friends of his own, then he couldn’t look down on them _that_ much, could he?

“Thinkin’ about a party two nights from now. That’s the earliest everyone can get together, and your live entertainment would spice up the mood.” He already had his phone out before you could make a decision. “Give me your digits and we can talk a price, okay?”

“That’s _one_ way to pick up chicks,” Crowe mumbled, but you doubted Gladio could hear.

He shoved his phone in your face, the “new contact” screen open with a blinking cursor. “Go ahead and fill it out. I’ll text you when we’ve got the time and location.”

Absentmindedly, you did as he asked, filling your name and number into the blanks. Handing the phone back to him, he glanced it over—probably to make sure you hadn’t written something like “fuk off dood” in the blanks instead—before looking back to you.

“Thanks,” he said, and winked, which made you feel awkward. “Looking forward to working with ya.”

After he left, Crowe leaned forward and hissed, “ _Why’d_ you give him your number? You know that it was just some cheesy pick-up line.”

Strangely enough, it was Nyx who came to your defense. “Possibly, but what if he really is looking to pay you for a gig?” His eyes found yours. “I’m not going to tell you who to hang out with. You already know what it’s like to mix people like us with nobility. Of course, there’s nothing wrong with making a few extra dollars on a talent you enjoy.”

He knew you enjoyed playing guitar, very much so.

“Bah,” Libertus chugged the last of his drink and wobbled on his feet. “This place is pissin’ me off. Let’s get outta here.”

\/\/\/

Your head lulled in the seat of Nyx’s company car as he sped down the streets, the glow of the city lights stirring you into complacency.

“I’m still pretty ticked at you,” he said after a while.

The revelation jolted you out of your thoughts and you looked at him. “What? Why?”

He kept his eyes on the steering wheel as he replied, “For not telling me about the fire this afternoon.”

You chuckled and leaned back into the seat. “And what were you going to do, huh? It all happened so fast, there wasn’t any time to text you. Besides, you were across the Citadel.”

“You never told me you didn’t know how to operate a fire extinguisher.”

“I do now,” you said, softly. “And it wouldn’t have been an issue if Lambert hadn’t sprayed me in the face. You know, that guy really hates me. He hasn’t spoken a word to me in five months.”

Lambert was from Western Galahd, where the accents were thick and so were people’s heads. You never could understand why he hated you, but he stopped talking to you one day, and you’d often heard the rumors of the things he’d call you behind your back—most of them derogatory and sexist.

Oh well.

“Hey.” Nyx slapped your leg with the back of his hand. It stung since you were still in your uniform cargo shorts. He ignored your high-pitched whine as he continued over you, “You were fantastic tonight. And that last move with the guitar over your back…” He chuckled. “You never told me you were practicing that.”

You and Nyx did everything together and talked all kinds of secrets with one another—Well, mostly you while he just listened. Sometimes he’d offer something about himself, but you were chatty, and he kept anything you said to him to himself. But, sometimes, it was nice to still be able to surprise the other. You didn’t feel like you could do that all that often anymore. There were still some things, though, like him meeting your brother and dad someday. You still imagined that running through your head. It had been a long time since you last saw them in person, them living close to Galdin Quay and you, well, _not._ But you talked to them often enough on MyFace. They still didn’t understand why you’d chosen to leave the ocean for the wall. Sometimes, you didn’t, either.

“Let’s call out of work,” you suggested, noting the waning energy in your voice as exhaustion set in.

He appeared slightly alarmed as he said, “Tomorrow?”

“Nah.” You shook your head and yawned. “At the end of May. For the Fantasy Faire. We didn’t get to go last year.”

All at once, he laughed, as though your idea, silly and ridiculous as it was, could be a possibility. _You_ could call out of work any time you liked. Glaives and Crownsguard, on the other hand, well, they were always on duty, even when off-duty.

“Why, so you can strut around in a low-cut bodice?” he asked in between laughs.

You puckered your lips and blew air through them.

“What’s wrong with that?” you asked. “It’s not like I get to dress up on the job and I haven’t had a date in over a year. I feel like I’m waving goodbye to my prime here.”

That caused him to laugh harder. “You’re, like, ten years younger than me and _you_ say you’re past your prime?”

You failed to see the humor. “You go out on dates all the time, so, yes, what would you know? You, looking all hot and whatnot, tromping around in that sexy Glaive coat.” You raised the pitch in your voice to mock the eloquence of some expectant House Aristo—maybe like that one who asked you to tie his garbage bags better, earlier, “And what am I to do, but put on makeup in a valiant effort to seduce the urinal I’m scrubbing, plucking gum out from the bottom of the bowl because ye Glaives shan’t be bothered to place them neatly in the rubbish bin.” Your voice went back to normal as you uttered a complaint, “And what the hell is the deal with putting toilet paper in the urinal to piss on? You can’t _flush_ it, so where do you think it goes? Have you any consideration as to who has to pick it up after you?”

He stopped laughing, but a large smile remained on his face. “You act like it’s me who does it. I’ll have you know that, for the record, I’m very conscientious of those kinds of things, now, especially knowing someone who works as a custodian.” Then he shoved you by the shoulder, as he liked to do. “And stop talking weird.”

“What’s weird?”

“Me hot in a sexy Glaive coat. Stop it. It’s weird.”

You giggled like a troll, because trolling him was what you liked to do. He deserved it, most days, and you’d been drinking, which gave you the extra courage to be a troll.

“I’ll see what I can do about the Fantasy Faire,” he said before rubbing the shoulder he’d shoved. “But you were really great tonight. I’m proud of you, Danny. And, just in case you wanted to know…” He leaned closer, although never taking his eyes from the road, and said in soft tones, “I broke my date tonight, just to be here for you.”

The confession had you shaking your head while giggling. “Dork,” you fired back. “Don’t think that this means I’ll be your date instead.”

“Ouch.” He readjusted himself in the driver’s seat. “Way to cut a guy.”

\/\/\/

The hangover didn’t bother you quite as much as another day in a custodial meeting did. As usual, you all sat around the Round Table of order, right after lunch—the menu being hamburgers and tater tots this time, perfect for low ranking employees of the Citadel—Quinzi with bright colored post-it notes in his hands.

“Well,” he began, face strained with being pissed about something new today, “it was nice to see that Captain Drautos’ office got vacuumed, but, in its stead, we forgot to close the windows.” His eyes zoned in on Chadwick, who stared out the glass windows leading to the outside world. “So, we had some critters get in last night.”

Snickers abound, Lambert knocked Chadwick’s leg with his own, startling the other into the world of the conversation.

“Oh.” Flustered, Chadwick composed himself and coughed. “R-Right, I was gonna leave a note for you this time around. He, uh, well, you see, he hadn’t actually _left_ the office until after I went to go check on the training gate and made sure it was locked. Man, you know, we gotta leave them a reminder that they need to start locking their own windows. We can’t keep backtracking after every staff member, peeking in and making sure their windows are closed. It’s a waste of time, man.”

A pregnant pause dared you to break out in laughter, but you found that you could compose yourself very well. Which was a good thing, you realized, because the flurries of a shitstorm rained down upon Chadwick, and he felt his boss’ wrath tenfold.

In the end, Chadwick was sentenced to spending extra time in the captain’s office, cleaning and fixing anything Drautos asked him to. Sinking into his chair, Chadwick crossed his arms and stared down at the table surface, undeniably embarrassed and pissed about it.

“Meanwhile, in other news,” Quinzi, who seemed that he had to count to ten in order to be able to continue the meeting, added, “The uppity ups have approved the budget for a brand new jumbotron, which will be installed at the Community Center just in time for the first soccer game.”

That soccer game was going to be held that upcoming weekend, and you had been volunteered for overtime to work it. How lucky.

“We also need to be checking our e-mails,” Quinzi went on. “The big, big boss has sent out several e-mails that, apparently, no one has responded to, even though he’s asked. There are some online training tests being sent to us and they need to be done by the end of the month.”

“What kind of tests?” Ermin asked.

“Bloodborne pathogens, for starters.” Quinzi shuffled the post-it notes in his hands, even though there were only two. “And we need to be aware of our crisis hotline number in case of emergencies during work shifts. Also, there will be a training for chemical awareness and the knowledge of our safety data sheets.”

You didn’t know what any of these were, but Quinzi assured you all that you would become intimately aware before the end of the week.

He also gave you the bombshell that you’d be returning to the Citadel to resume Lajos’ run for that day.

Again, lucky you.

\/\/\/

Jaron gave you the lowdown of that day’s schedule. Apparently, major meetings were going on around the offices you were meant to clean, and wouldn’t be done until sometime after four, maybe five. He told you to just check because, odds were, the House Heads and High Council members wouldn’t take too kindly to you running the vacuum while they talked about immigration laws and low income housing.

So, you found Harv on the twenty-eighth floor and chatted him up for a while. You both talked about how things were going over in the low ranking employee world of the Citadel and what each custodian was up to since he had left sometime late last year. You followed him into a vacant office which housed a gorgeous greenhouse in the back. He made circles and turns with some great finesse as he moved the large auto scrubber across the expensive looking tile floor. It reminded you that you needed to check the battery water level before running the machine in the hallways that night.

He looked at you from over his shoulder as he recounted a story about Lajos and accidentally barging into a High Council member’s office, catching him and the secretary tangled up in the horizontal mambo on his desk. The machine kept going forward, even as he turned his body, and the words couldn’t leave your mouth fast enough to, “watch out” before the auto scrubber smashed straight into the wall.

“Ooops,” he mumbled and rotated the machine back. “That looks like a serious accident.”

The accident hadn’t come from the wall itself, but the pipe that had been struck. Why on Eos an exterior pipe would be placed in the room, only the Astrals knew, but then you remembered that there _was_ a greenhouse in the back of the room.

Oh.

Harv examined the front of the pipe and the bit of water that leaked from the mounting ring around the faucet. He used his thumb and forefinger to tighten it, but it just spun around the pipe.

“Definitely a serious accident,” he said and got down on his knees to observe the damage. “Aw, it doesn’t look that bad. Just crushed the mounting ring is all. Put some tape around it.”

You snorted your laugh. “Some duct tape?”

He shrugged without looking at you. “Why not? It’ll be okay. Wanna grab me some from out of my closet?” Then he paused. “Actually, I don’t have any. Lajos should have some in his closet though.”

“I’ll be right back,” you said on your way out the door.

Descending the stairs on the back end of the hallway, you came around the corner in a quickened pace, feeling slightly anxious about not having started your run yet. And, even though the damage didn’t appear to be too bad, it still made you shake your head at the situation. Silly custodians, you thought to yourself. No wonder the higher ups had such a low opinion of your department.

That’s when you noticed the ever creeping puddle of water coming from behind the wall that led into the hallway you had initially missed trash in the day before. Tilting your head in curiosity, you wondered where the pool could be coming from, and followed your senses to the opening of the side hallway. A large amount of water pooled in the hallway, a quarter inch deep, if you had to guess and—whooooo, boy, that was a lot of water. So much that several exceptionally well-dressed bigwigs stepped out of their office doors to glance down at the giant puddle creeping underneath their doors.

One gave an audible gasp while a man used the flat side of a magazine to usher the water away from spilling onto his lovely beige carpet.

“Where’s this water coming from?” he asked, panicked, and his head shot up to you. Obviously, he recognized your uniform. “What are you waiting for? Find out.”

His words sparked life within you and you jogged through the water, cursing as it soaked your shoes—you had just bought them and they weren’t cheap!—and socks. It splashed up onto the walls and hit one bigwig in the thigh, ruining their blue slacks with water. He yelled at you, but you kept going, taking care not to slip and fall. The water came higher the further down the hall you went, reaching up past your ankles.

The door to one office jerked open and a male bigwig darted out into the hall, narrowly colliding with you. Completely drenched wasn’t enough to describe the poor soul as he thundered out into the hall, soaked piles of paper tucked under his arms. Then he whirled on you, eyes hidden under fogged glasses and sandy colored hair spilled down over his face, sticking to the sides of his head. His nice, purple shirt clung to every part of his frame, and you were pretty sure he was cutting glass, if a guy could do such a thing. Even his pants left nothing to the imagination, and water dripped from his gloves, papers, and the briefcase you just noticed tucked under the papers.

You pulled your eyes away to stare into the office, which sat deep in about a foot of water. Several ceiling tiles and papers floated in the manmade lake around the nice desk that you recognized from the day before, water streaming steadily from above. That’s when you realized that the greenhouse office must’ve sat directly above this poor soul’s. Then you saw the golden, glittery letters of _Scientia_ etched into his door and you froze.

You were in so much fucking trouble.

\/\/\/

For the third time in three days, you sat in the Mess Hall at the carefully regarded Round Table in yet _another_ custodial meeting. You avoided eye contact with Quinzi ever since coming onto your shift, and hadn’t spoken a word to anyone in the last sixteen hours, not even Nyx. Of course, you hadn’t had to. By the time your shift ended the night before, _everyone_ in the Citadel knew about the two blockhead custodians who sank Ignis Scientia’s office under a foot and a half of water, even Nyx.

_**“I can’t believe you flooded the royal adviser’s office. This is a really big deal, Danny. You could lose your job over this.”**_

You didn’t bother expending energy of the obvious with a reply. You heard about it all night long. First, the water to that part of the Citadel, which spanned ten floors, had to be shut off in order to keep Ignis’ room from turning into an aquarium. That meant no running water, no bathrooms, and no showers for anyone whose quarters were on any of those floors. That also meant no water to work with in any of the custodial closets. Needless to say, that pissed off a great many House Aristos on its own.

You spent the entire working shift with Harv, Jaron—who had been called back on duty, and he had just gotten home across the city—a scary Galahdian custodian named Bosco who talked to himself and had been sentenced to working the lobby area and Crownsguard Training Room in the Citadel, where he couldn’t frighten or hurt anyone and could be kept an eye on, and another Galahdian custodian named Ancil. Ancil at least liked to work and was about your age and worked even higher up in the Citadel than Lajos and Harv.

Between the five of you, you extracted all of the water in his room, the hallway, and any of the other rooms the water had gotten into, which were only three of the eight in the hallway, excluding the royal adviser’s. And, of course, as Harv had tinkered with the pipe while you retrieved the tape, he managed to break something off on the pipe—you still weren’t sure what—and that expedited the flow of water down below. It had also triggered a powerful geyser of water to shoot him in the face and continue to sail across the office, destroying pictures, ceiling tiles, knickknacks, papers, and what have you in the vicinity. Even the paint thinned on the walls, showing through in big, blotchy shapes amidst dull orange paint. Perhaps it was an improvement, because you found dull orange to be very ugly.

Ignis didn’t hang around while you worked—he was _really_ pissed, and Jaron convinced him to go home and to leave things to him. The adviser reluctantly agreed and you were happy for his dismissal. You didn’t know what you would’ve done if you had had to endure his scowl all night. Instead, you and Harv endured Jaron’s. You were pretty sure you weren’t coming back to work at the high end of the Citadel, if you still had a job after tonight.

After, you removed all of the damaged ceiling tiles, which panned out to over half, and tossed them in the trash cart for the compactor. Jaron was positive that he would have to order more, but that was after an outside company came in to check for mold damage. No one touched any of the papers in Ignis’ room, damaged or not. Jaron reminded you all of the contract you had signed upon being hired and you recalled it well: everything seen, heard, or, otherwise, discussed with you was confidential and not to be repeated or used in any fashion against anyone or anything. You were a custodian, and your only job was to follow the description bulleted down the sheet handed to you.

You were the first of the custodians he sent home at ten-thirty, and you figured that that was a very, very bad sign. That feeling intensified when Quinzi texted you at six in the morning, before you had even gotten out of bed, to meet at the staff dining hall for a custodial meeting.

And that was where you were now.

And, this time, Quinzi was looking _directly_ at you, many tiny post-it notes in his hands that could’ve equated to a small book.

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” he said and changed glances with Ermin, then Reimund. “This is the _third_ time this week that I have to have a sit-down discussion with all of you.” Your eyes fell to your lap, trying hard not to give into the urge to defend yourself or cry. If you lost this job, it was going to be a big fucking deal. Quinzi said your name with a scary kind of bellow, drawing your head up to meet his eyes again. “Would you like to tell me what happened last night?”

No, you wanted to say. Not really. It wasn’t even your fault, but you didn’t want to throw Harv under the bus. “Snitches get stitches,” was what Ermin constantly chimed around the Citadel, and now, everyone was looking at you as though you were about to be receiving some of those after the custodial meeting. Maybe some kind of blanket party if you were even luckier.

Instead of saying anything, you shook your head and dropped your eyes again.

Quinzi sighed and sounded defeated. “All right, well. I’m sure you know that you won’t be going back to B District anytime soon. As it is, you’ll be sitting on a suspended period until this is all resolved.”

Suspended? What did that even mean?

“Sir?” you vocalized, trying to keep the urgency from showing through in your tone.

He seemed to be anticipating that reaction because he didn’t miss a beat while saying, “I’ll be keeping a close eye on you here in C District, and, although I’ll still give you the hours this weekend for the soccer tournament, I can’t promise that you won’t be put on unpaid suspension until the investigation into what happened is complete.”

None of that made any sense, but it didn’t matter. Unless you were ready to spill your guts over what happened, your job was on the line, and everything that meant everything to you along with it.

\/\/\/

Before you could start your normal run, Quinzi pulled you into a small corridor with a single occupant bathroom, boiler room, and an unused office.

“You didn’t really have anything to do with the auto scrubber busting the pipe, did you?” he asked in hushed tones. Although you were all alone and your coworkers had gone away, he still seemed to feel the need for privacy, which you were appreciative of.

You shook your head. “And then he tried to fix it and made it worse.”

He seemed to be taking in your words and glanced sideways at the boiler room door. “I didn’t think so. Harv’s on unpaid suspension during this pending investigation. It wouldn’t be such a big deal, but it had to do with the location of the Citadel, and the victim’s importance to the situation. I’m sure you understand.”

Oh, yes. You understood _perfectly._

“You know I wouldn’t be doing this to you if it were up to me,” he continued and then gave a heavy sigh. “You’re a hard worker and reliable. But my hands are tied.”

“I understand,” you said, trying hard to hold back the tears and rage you’d pent up for over a day. Couldn’t you just go back to two nights before, at the Bazaar, when you were feeling the exhilaration of something wonderful?

“I’ll do my best to keep you on your scheduled shifts,” he said and patted your shoulder. “After tonight, however, you’re off until Saturday. I’m hoping to have this resolved before Monday.”

Great. Two days without pay. Still, you mustered a wry smile and thanked him.

\/\/\/

You pushed the dust mop through the Glaive Briefing Room, headphones shoved so far into your ears and music blaring so hard that you knew you were going to be deaf before the end of the night. That, of course, was a bad thing, considering that you were supposed to be playing Salazar, or Sally, your guitar, at that night’s birthday party, hosted by none other than the Shield himself.

You had almost turned him down, thanks to your spoiled mood, and he text you three times during your cleanup shift in Ignis’ office.

_**“Hey, Flamenco, still down for the fifth?”**_

_**“It’ll be at my second pad inside the Citadel. No worries though about security. I’ll get you the clearance you need. Just text when you’re out front.”** _

_Bah._ As if _you_ needed clearance. And what did he mean by _second pad?_ Never mind, you didn’t need to know.

_**“Hey, I hope the Citadel thing didn’t scare you off. I’ll pay you well and free booze. Say you’ll come. I’ve been praising your talents to my buds and I’ll look stupid if you back out.”**_

A guilt trip if ever you knew one. He made Libertus and Nyx look bad on even their best guilt tripping days. You text him that morning after Quinzi’s angry wake-up text, saying that you’d see him after your work shift and if eleven was too late to come play.

_**“No one is getting off early tonight,”**_ he text back and then fired off another directly behind that. _**“Eleven is totally fine. See you then.”**_ Then, another text after that, _**“Glad you’re coming, Flamey.”**_ He sent an emoticon after that, but your stupid, old-ass phone couldn’t display it as anything other than a big box.

In that case, you packed Sally, a change of clothes, and your makeup bag for after work because, Astrals forbid, you smelled like a urinal or trash compactor at the Shield’s birthday party.

You didn’t hear the door open as you rounded the meeting table, and pushed in a stray chair from out of the aisle. A jolt of surprise shot through you as Luche moseyed on in, his coat in one hand. Were the Glaives off swing shift already? You briefly checked your wristwatch. No, it was only eight twenty-two.

His eyes were on you before you had a chance to react, although he crossed the table via the opposite end of you while you skillfully guided the dust mop with one hand on the handle toward the door. You ran into him often in the halls or during events that the custodians, security, and Glaives all shared, but had only spoken to him a handful of times in all of your three years.

Then it dawned on you the possibility of this unexpected visit.

You deliberated about removing your headphones, but his piercing gaze made you uncomfortable as he continued to circle the table in slow strides. Your eyes shot to the closed door, and used your free hand to push through out into the hall. Although you knew he was probably behind you, eyes glued to the back of your head, you continued working. You shook out the dust mop, leaned it against the wall, and swept the garbage into your dust pan with a small broom.

Then, he was in front of you, causing you to jump again. Taking several steps back, you removed the ear buds from your head and heaved a breath of air through your lungs.

“Dude, you scared me.” It wasn’t like you to be so informal to a Glaive, least of all, anyone, especially while working, but his unwanted skulking put you on the defensive. “What is it?”

He draped his coat over his shoulder so that it appeared as a half cape. You didn’t much care for the smirk on his face as his blue eyes twinkled against the fluorescent lights above. It made him look that much more—

“Is the training gate stuck again?” you asked, refusing to allow yourself to finish that previous thought.

“Nope,” he said with a shake of his head and made a popping noise with his tongue. “Just wanted to have a chat.”

That dawned possibility spilled on you again and you hoped that it wasn’t the initial thought you had and more of the second, like a spill on the marble floor in the Mess Hall, or vomit from some Glaive who couldn’t handle the warp-blade techniques as well as he should’ve.

You emptied your dust pan into the rolling trashcan behind you before gathering up the broom and dust mop. Then, you wheeled the trashcan down the hall to the bathrooms, located only a short feet away from the briefing room.

“Walk and talk,” you said. “I gotta keep working.”

He seemed to have no problem with that as he followed, fingers interlocked behind his back.

“So, you flooded one of the prince’s retainer’s offices, did you?” he cut to the point. “I must admit that I’m very impressed.”

You might’ve pushed the can a little harder than you meant to. Yup, it was the first dawned possibility that came to mind. Well, you wouldn’t let it bother you. It was to be expected, it having occurred only twenty-four hours ago and all. You pulled the can in front of the women’s bathroom and walked inside, hoping that there was someone in there to keep Luche from following.

He had some gall, however, because he walked right in behind you, even putting the kickstand on the door down in the process. It didn’t matter, however; no one was in the restroom.

“I wouldn’t say ‘flooded,’” you replied, sweeping fallen paper towels and toilet paper scraps on the floor into your dust pan. “Besides, I can’t take credit for the accident anyway.”

“I’m pretty sure your name is circulating around,” Luche said and chuckled. His eyes took him to the large, fancy mirror above the marble-colored sink. He seemed to be studying himself, even as he said, “Look, at least own up to it. I just wanted to know what happens to you now.”

A prying snoop, you thought to yourself and shook your head while putting on a pair of latex gloves.

“That’s still in deliberation,” you said and dumped the dust pan into the rolling trashcan. Then, you dumped the restroom trashcan. “I don’t have any of the specifics.”

“That’s too bad.” He pulled his gaze from the mirror and followed you toward the handicapped stall, where you emptied what the other custodians liked calling, “the vampire box.” Luche said, “I mean, you’re a pretty good custodian. We’ll hate to lose you.”

“I didn’t realize that you were in the know about my termination,” you said with an air of professionalism, and tried not to add any kind of inflection into your voice. It seemed apparent that he wasn’t going to go away. He blocked you in the frame of the stall. “Excuse me, please.” As though to enunciate your point, you held up the brown, paper bag full of used tampons and pads.

His eyes widened and he hopped back. You made sure to bump your hand holding the bag into his stomach as he passed and he hissed. Then another figure came into the doorframe of the women’s bathroom and you thanked the Astrals when Nyx, garbed in Glaive coat and all, stood there. He met your eyes before glancing at the Glaive behind you. Then he found your gaze again.

“I need you to come with me,” he said, voice stiff and not his usual, playful self. It made you nervous. “Seems we’ve got a major leak in the boiler room upstairs.”

Luche squared himself so that he faced Nyx. “Should I go, too?”

“Not unless you’re a custodian in disguise,” Nyx said. “Or a plumber. Or know where the leak is.”

Luche clicked his tongue in his mouth and waved you both away. “I get it. Whatever, take your girlfriend away.”

Neither you nor Nyx responded and you dumped the brown bag into the trashcan before peeling off your gloves and following him out of the restroom. Luche lingered only for a moment longer—probably stealing your broom or dust pan, you figured—before departing from the bathroom and stormed down the opposite end of the hall.

When he was out of earshot, you looked up at Nyx, but his eyes were focused straight ahead, jaw tight.

“Thanks for getting me out of that,” you said in a low voice.

His attention remained forward, even as he replied, “No problem. I could tell he was bugging you.”

“Why, did you hear the conversation?”

Finally, he glanced sideways at you. “I was looking for you anyway, but his voice carries. I didn’t have to stand there long before I knew he was asking about last night.”

Even though it didn’t feel like a humorous matter, you wobbled a smile onto your face. Nyx was the best. Ticked or not, he always had your back.

“What did you need?” you asked and stopped in front of the elevator. At this time of night, no one appeared to be around. Probably on duty elsewhere. How fortunate for you, it seemed.

He remained silent as he pressed the up button, and you both listened to the grinding of the elevator as it descended toward you. You fidgeted, not enjoying the silence he put between the two of you, although, you couldn’t blame him.

You still hadn’t texted him since yesterday.

“Is the boiler really leaking?” you asked, hoping for a show of emotion.

Nyx was good, though, and could be a great poker player. He never betrayed an ounce of feeling, even when his eyes came to rest upon you. When the elevator doors pulled open, he gestured for you to enter first. Your good humor waned and he pressed a button for the floor above yours, the twelfth, and you sustained a sigh. Perhaps the boiler was leaking after all.

“We just got everything out of the royal adviser’s room,” he said, facing the elevator as you felt the gravitational pull upward. It always rendered you lightheaded. “I thought that I’d let you know that they’ve granted him a temporary office until his room is cleaned, checked for mold, and brought back to working order.”

Your chest felt heavy. “I didn’t realize that they’d put the Glaives on such monotonous work.”

“It was graded as a first class emergency. Seems the things that got damaged in the flood were some kind of big deal.” You wished he would look at you, and not with sore eyes. You weren’t sure you could handle that kind of disappointment coming from him right now.

The elevator bounced to a stop and the doors opened again. A female Glaive with short, brown hair stood in wait, and she brushed your shoulder as you both passed to let her on. You were pretty sure her name was Elea, but you’d ask Nyx for confirmation later.

You followed him down the hall, in the direction of the boiler room that apparently had a major leak. Perhaps you were expecting a puddle of an unmanageable size like yesterday. That was sure to give you nightmares. But as you passed each office door, bathroom, electrical room, and mechanical room, you saw nothing of the sort. You allowed Nyx his silence for now, and dreaded the time when he was really going to start talking.

He motioned for you to open the door to the boiler room with your key card, and you flipped on the lights when you entered. Two small boilers hummed in the closet sized room Nyx pushed you into, and closed the door behind him. You thought about making a joke—something like, “If you did all this to get me alone with you, could you have chosen a more appropriate room?” but the look on his face made you think twice.

Oh…so it was like _that,_ was it?

You crossed your arms and sighed. “You gonna tell me off for not texting you back?” you asked.

The low light made his features that much more ominous and angry. You hated it. “No,” he finally responded. “But I’ve been worried about you. Don’t just ignore my messages when something like this happens, Danny. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on.”

The hold on your arms loosened until they fell to your sides. There was a reason the moniker, “Hero” clung to Nyx like a wet t-shirt. It was almost as though he couldn’t sleep at night if he knew that someone—could be anyone, really—was in danger. 

“What could you have done?” you asked. “Unless you have a time machine that’ll go back to the moment before Harv hit the pipe—”

He didn’t appear in the mood for your sarcasm or jocular remarks. Cutting you off, he said, “I wasn’t kidding when I said that your job’s on the line. You damaged a pretty important person’s office.” Then, his brows furrowed. “Wait, you said someone else hit the pipe?”

The last thing you wanted to do was get into the story again, but it _was_ Nyx. Even though “snitches got stitches,” you recounted the events with as little detail as possible, especially the moment Ignis rushed from his office.

By the time you finished, Nyx hissed, “You’re essentially taking the fall for withholding the truth. Unless you want to be without a job tomorrow, you’d better tell your supervisor that you weren’t in control of the machine. Doesn’t sound like your coworker has.”

Your eyes darted sideways. “I can’t.”

He appeared affronted. “And why the hell not?”

You curled your upper lip as you recited, “Because snitches get stitches.”

He stared at you with great incredulity, and you weren’t sure if he was going to dropkick you or slap you and _then_ dropkick you.

“I don’t believe this,” he mumbled and turned to leave. “If you’re not going to save your ass, then I guess I gotta.”

You seized his arm in alarm. You couldn’t let him tell your bosses the truth. Everyone in the custodial department would hate you if you did. Much to your surprise, you didn’t have to pull very hard, as he allowed your resistance to keep him inside the boiler room.

“You’re being very dumb about this, you know?” he said, eyes on one of the humming boilers in front of him. “You’re going to lose your job.”

“Just wait until tomorrow, please?” you begged and, although you still had hold of his arm, you weren’t tugging anymore. “Quinzi knows the truth and he said that he’s going to talk with Jaron and the big boss.”

He paused and finally offered you eye contact. “Is that going to help you keep your job?”

You shrugged, not because you were indifferent, but because you honestly didn’t know. This obviously did not satisfy Nyx, and he pulled his arm from your limp grasp.

“I got hired to play at the prince’s Shield’s party tonight,” you said. “I don’t want to make any waves just yet.”

He sighed and tapped the toe of his boot against the concrete floor, which was about the only visible concrete surface in the entire Citadel. Everything was just so nice and sparkly and appropriate for the king and his High House Heads.

His face dropped to his tapping boot as he said, “The odds are that they know exactly what happened.”

“I know that.”

“Then why risk it? Tomorrow might be too late, Danny. And what if he’s setting you up because he knows what happened? You could be the laughing stock of the entire party.”

The way that his thought process spiraled out of control had you cracking up, although you tried to keep it low enough in case someone heard you from out in the hall. There had already been rumors in the past of you and Nyx alone in rooms together. His eyes met yours with a quizzical brow.

“You think too much,” you said and softly poked the tip of his nose. He pulled back, but not quickly enough. “I highly doubt that the Shield knows I’m a custodian, and I’d like to keep it that way. If things go south, I’ll just come crash at your place.”

Which made sense, of course, since Nyx’s flat was pretty close to the Citadel. At least King Regis treated his Glaives well in the sense of housing them close to work, despite it looking slummier than yours, if that were even possible.

He rolled his eyes and made ready to leave again. “Somehow, I suspect you’ll be doing that anyway. And I’d rather you don’t try to get home at such ungodsly hours after the party. I’ll leave the spare under the mat, like always.”

You grinned. “Yes, Mama.”

\/\/\/

Ten-thirty came and went and you carried your spare change of clothes into one of the single occupant staff bathrooms you cleaned on your run. Resting your case with the guitar inside against a wall, you stripped out of your uniform, tossed it into a linen bag, and changed into a nice, muted colored blouse with dark jeans. At a time like this, you wanted to keep it casual. After all, you knew nothing of the Shield and those he associated himself with, save the two Glaives from the Bazaar.

You made quick work of your makeup, combed your hair before putting it back into the hair clip, and gave yourself a onceover. After, you shoved your belongings into one of your custodial closets, on a shelf where you thought no one would get into it. After all was said and done, and the initial jitters passed, you slung your guitar case over your shoulder and proceeded to text Gladio. You winced at the time, almost eleven-thirty.

_**“Sorry I’m late,”**_ you began the text and added, _**“So, where should I meet you?”**_

You already knew that he was in the central part of the Citadel, and that you’d have to take a late night shuttle over there to meet him. You were already waiting at the curb by the time your phone jittered with his reply.

_**“Meet me in the lobby. I’ll be down in ten.”**_

You stared at his text for a few moments before pocketing the phone and focusing on the outside world beyond your shuttle window. The faintest sliver of a moon peeked out from behind the Citadel, but it was nearly impossible to see stars in the city. Sometimes, it made you sad and yearn for Galdin Quay, where you could see stars all the time with your family. Not even the dazzling, glittered lights of Insomnia were an appropriate substitute for the velvet, black sky and scattered stars.

As promised, Gladio was already in wait of your arrival by the time you pushed through the front lobby doors. His grin split from ear to ear and he approached you.

“Glad you could make it, Flamey,” he said and gave you a side hug. It didn’t take much to catch the smell of alcohol on him. You wrinkled your nose when he wasn’t looking and he hooked the crook of his elbow through one of your own. “I’ll lead the way.”

That didn’t make you feel any more secure and hoped that there wouldn’t be much security out this late at night—especially of faces who recognized your own. You prayed that your make up and change of clothes would work as enough of a disguise so that you wouldn’t be called out as the Citadel Saboteur that you apparently were. Perhaps you should’ve let your hair down for tonight after all.

The Astrals were on your side as no one littered the halls and, those who did, were just as unfamiliar with you as you were with them. Gladio’s quarters were clear on the other side of the Citadel, a place that you had never been in before. He walked closely with you, still hooked elbow to elbow, and talked about the small gathering of people that were already there. 

Apparently, this second pad belonged to his father, whom you already knew to be the Shield to the king, so a pretty important dude. His father gave the quarters to Gladio, who utilized them every so often, even though he claimed to live at home with his sister and father. Having a party with his dad around wouldn’t bode well, he explained, which was why they were all busting it up in the Citadel quarters. The party had already been going on for over an hour now, despite what he said about no one being able to show up until eleven, and it seemed that his guests were really jonesing for some live entertainment.

“We can never decide on music,” he said, slurring a bit in his words. “So, you gotta really step it up tonight, all right, Flamey?”

Where on Eos had he thought it was all right to call you something as ridiculous as, “Flamey?” Still, you only nodded, trying to gauge the situation. Would you be staying or going? Playing or booed off the stage? You already decided that you weren’t going to drink because, hey, a flamenco Lestallum amateur guitarist like you needed all of the concentration they could get. And if you were about to be fired because Harv flooded Ignis’ room, you were going to do your best to earn some massive tips on top of whatever Gladio was willing to pay you tonight.

Halfway down the hall on the fifteenth floor, he turned to a door that looked less formal than you were used to, decorated with scuffs and paint chips, and finally unhooked himself from your arm.

“Home sweet home,” he said and stepped through.

The low sound of a bass caught your ears, and the smell of alcohol wafted under your nose. The colors of lights in the front living room appeared as though you were walking into a modest night club, but the inside of Gladio’s quarters were much bigger than your hack-n’-slashed two bedroom trailer.

You took the opportunity to be polite and closed the door behind him as he strode through the living quarters into the adjoining kitchen.

“Flamenco lady’s here,” he hollered into the air, causing everyone to stop and stare.

The jitters returned as you scanned the surroundings of his punked out abode, rivaled only by fantasy trinkets, posters, hanging swords, and a horned helmet in the corner. A fair amount of people roamed his place, at least fifteen, maybe twenty, you’d say. Most of their eyes met yours, some even waved, and a short blonde snapped an unwanted photo of you from across the kitchen. He stared down into the viewfinder and grinned.

You really wished you had declined coming, but reminded yourself that you could be homeless within a few weeks. Fingers clenching the fabric of your guitar strap, you went after Gladio, hoping to find a place to set up and begin playing, if only to keep yourself from having to engage in a party where you were clearly a wallflower.

You’d last seen him disappear down the hall, back into a room or something. Squeezing through a small crowd of people you recognized as some of the Glaives who worked with Nyx, you ducked and kept your head low to keep from being spotted. However, you made a big distraction with the guitar on your back, and ended up knocking one of the Glaives in the head with the cushioned part of the neck. He glared at you, but otherwise didn’t appear to recognize you.

Better than to stop and formally apologize, you continued down the hall, which stretched on for much longer than you anticipated. Those in the Citadel lived the high life, you knew for sure, and was glad that you didn’t have to clean their quarters. That task was left to a different department, and, sometimes, to someone hired personally by the bigwigs. Bigwigs. It was still hard to believe that you had scored a gig like this in, not just a Head of House’s place, but _the_ Shield of the King. Or soon to be. It didn’t matter.

You turned in the hallway, feeling extremely awkward and left out. It wasn’t until you hit something with your guitar case and heard a loud, “Ouch!” did you whirl on your feet, only to remind yourself to be careful in such close confines. You stared up at a man dressed much nicer than anyone else in Gladio’s pad, all in black, from the leather jacket, down to his shiny shoes. He adjusted the glasses that you assumed you had knocked off kilter.

That’s when you recognized the royal adviser himself, Ignis Scientia, and it took less than three milliseconds, judging by the widening of his eyes, for him to gather exactly who you were.

Crap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh...yeah.
> 
> I hope I managed to keep the cast in character, and, although there's not a lot to go on with the setting of the Citadel, I'm trying to use what I know while adding some pizzazz to it, haha. Comments and criticism are always welcome, but flames will be used to create a bonfire to keep my warm ass cold.
> 
> I'm horrible with updates, but I've got quite a bit to start and will do my best to update once a week, which is part of the reason I'm leaving y'all with a million pages to start. (It's more like...thirty-three. Damn.) I'm also in the middle of drawing my butt off for artist alley, which is happening local to me next month. After that, I'll have more free time to custodian you all.


	2. If I'm No Elizabeth Bennet, Then You're No Mr. Darcy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're sorry for what happened--you truly are, but you just can't seem to get the words out. So actions work better.
> 
> ...Sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this one already written, but editing it took forever since it's ridiculously long. I apologize for any inconsistencies that may pop up. I've edited this on several different days. Sorry for the stupid title name, the gagging fuzzy surrogate friendship bonding written over the repeat of "Bros on the Road II," and the choppy foreshadowing of the overarching plot to come.
> 
> On a lighter note, I wrote the duration of the party scene while listening to the guitar version of Carmen's, "Habanera." It made it quite entertaining, especially during the first part with Ignis. Just sayin'. XD

**We Just Merely Get Swept Up**

**II.**

**If I’m No Elizabeth Bennet, Then You’re No Mr. Darcy**

Neither of you spoke for the first several seconds after the unfortunate recognition, mostly on your part. His widened eyes sharpened into a scowl and you realized that, yes, you were only moments away from being tossed from the party and fired from your job.

“Iggy!” A hand slapped down on the adviser’s shoulder, nearly dropping the man, who winced and seized the hand. Gladio appeared from behind and stood nearly a head taller than the other. “Great, you’ve met tonight’s entertainment.”

Although in apparent pain, Ignis merely sidestepped away from the Shield and rubbed the slap wound. At least the scowl had redirected in Gladio’s favor, giving you pause to wonder how the gods could be so cruel as to make Ignis Scientia, the man you had so unintentionally slighted—okay, slighted was like putting a band-aid over the terrible truth of the matter—unintentionally _bulldozed into utter oblivion_ could be friends with the…

Oh. Right. Gladio was the prince’s Shield, and Ignis was…

You felt like a total moron. How could you _not_ notice this sooner? Things were about to get ugly and you hastened for the door. At least, that was your intention before Gladio yanked your arm back and slapped your hand into Ignis’.

“Flamey, meet Ignis. Iggy, meet—”

“A pleasure,” the adviser said and shook your hand, lightly wrapping his fingers around yours. Your eyes flickered to his for a moment. He looked a lot of things, but _pleased_ to have met you, he did not.

Forcing a smile to your own face, you took part in the handshake before he dropped your hand and turned back to Gladio.

“I’ve left something in my provisional office,” he said before excusing himself. “I’ll return in a bit.”

Gladio scoffed while you pondered his use of the word, “provisional.” Clearly a slight against you, but you refused to acknowledge the remark with a retort. After all, you were there by request, and everything else was secondary.

After Ignis departed from his friend’s quarters, Gladio let his disdain be known, even more so since he had already been drinking.

“Don’t mind Iggy,” he said, slinging an arm over your shoulders, despite the bulky guitar case on your back. “He’s just pissed ‘cuz some bonehead custodians flooded his office yesterday. It was pretty funny, though, I gotta admit. But he’s in some heat since everything was damaged and he lost some pretty important things.”

You didn’t think that it was wise that his loose lips were telling you this much, but he didn’t seem to notice, or, if he did, didn’t find the heart to care. Maybe he thought it was all innocent tattling, but wouldn’t he have been in for a shocker to learn that one of the bonehead custodians just _happened_ to be you?

He led you back to the living room and shoved some boxes, weights, and books aside to turn one corner of the room into a makeshift stage for you. You stood there, feeling more than awkward at the situation, and kept your eyes on the miscellaneous things he nudged into one corner with his foot or slid across the carpet under an expensive looking coffee table. 

You really hoped that Ignis wouldn’t come back. Maybe the sheer knowledge of your heathen presence would delay or, better yet, deny his return. At least until you had played for an hour or two, got paid, and ran the hell out of there. That way, Gladio wouldn’t have to learn your true identity. In a perfect world, that would be amazing.

“Here you go, Flamey,” Gladio theatrically gestured to the newly cleaned corner with a red floor runner meant to mark the circumference of your stage. Now, all you needed was a stool or chair, which you asked him for. He returned a moment later with a bar stool.

“Thanks,” you mumbled and unpacked your guitar, all the while of entertaining thoughts of how many songs would constitute a full set, how many of the shortest songs you knew would help complete that set, and if you could get away with only playing for half an hour. Probably not, but maybe Gladio would be blitzed enough by then to not notice your stealthy departure. You contemplated not even taking the money. If luck was completely at a loss to you, then you could bet that Ignis had _not_ gone to his _provisional_ office, and was, instead, on the phone with your supervisor, demanding your immediate termination.

Your hands shook as you tuned Sally, the thoughts spurring anxiety within you. It actually made you nauseous. But, yakking on Gladio’s fine carpet would only expedite your termination. To battle the restless anxiety, you breathed in and out, listening to the sound of the guitar strings over the noise, and watched the needle on your tuner.

“You like beer?” 

Your head shot up at the question, and Gladio hovered above you, an opened bottle of beer in his extended hand. You had promised yourself you wouldn’t drink, lest you make a fool of yourself during your _second_ live performance. However, your body reacted before you could scold it and you chugged the first quarter of the bottle. When you pulled back, you stared into the amber bottle, the foam head rising up the glass. For a moment, you feared it would overflow.

He chuckled and said, “Easy, Hotcakes. I know I promised beer, but let’s hear some of that fantastic playing from the other night before you get trashed on my watch.” Then he winked at you.

Oh. Wow. You’d been promoted from “Flamey” to “Hotcakes.” Since he was paying you, you weren’t going to correct him on either account. And, besides, the moment Ignis came back in, you’d be going from “Flamey,” to “Hotcakes,” to a “Fired Bonehead Custodian.”

You grinned until he left you alone again, and placed your beer on the corner of the coffee table in front of you. Then, you seated yourself on the barstool, checked your tuner one more time, and opened with _Lestallum Fantasma._ The majority of the crowd quieted as your fingers picked across the first set of strings, just like at the Bazaar, and you kept your head low for discomfort of those watching. Would the Glaives recognize you? Would you get booed from your makeshift stage the moment Ignis returned, calling you an office wrecker or a saboteur?

The fear caused you to pluck the wrong string, but you quickly played it off and continued the song, forcing yourself to concentrate. There wasn’t enough space in between you, the walls, and the coffee table to swing your guitar over your back like you had at the Bazaar, but you would sure attempt to give your best performance.

\/\/\/

Your intention had been to leave after four songs, especially since your repertoire of known tabs was far shorter than you realized, but stupid Gladio kept feeding you drinks to make you stay. Ignis came back in after you finished an insulting version of _God in Fire_ with your Lestallum strings, when the chords were _clearly_ meant to be played with Lucian. Your only saving grace was that you had a singing voice, something that not even Nyx knew, but you were catching a pretty good buzz, and felt daring.

Ignis paused to watch you finish the song with your first real fan, the short blonde who’d snapped your picture when you first came in. Prompto, you thought his name was and had never seen him roaming the Citadel before tonight, so he seemed like a safe individual to talk to. Your eyes flitted back and forth between his laughing face and Ignis’ stony one. It made your buzz wane. Wasn’t it past his bedtime or something, anyway? He had to have better things to do than glare at you while you played, right?

But he stood there, arms crossed in the adjoining kitchen, and watched.

“Okay, okay.” Prompto, who probably had had more than you to drink and should have considered stopping, stifled his laughter long enough to speak again. It came out as a halted snort, but then he waved a hand in front of his face, eyes closed, and said, “The Chocobo Song. You know it?”

Know it? Pffft. If it had to come as a real revelation, even to yourself, you learned that song before _Lestallum Fantasma._ It was your jam, even on a flamenco guitar.

Leaning into the bar stool, you drove your heels into the crossbar and plucked the first few chords, enjoying how they sounded on Sally. 

Prompto’s laugh came in hysterics as he turned over his shoulder and shouted for someone across the room, “Noct! Hey, Noct, c’mere.”

Your eyes glanced up long enough to see a man around your age, head full of black hair, stagger toward both of you. Even in the low, colored lights, you could tell that his face was flushed. He leaned with his hip against an armrest on one side of Gladio’s leather couch.

Clearing your throat, your eyes pinballed to Prompto, and he nodded his head. You paused in your strumming. Then, the two of you belted out in unison, “I want to ride my chocobo all day, from down in Old Lestallum, to the shoals of Stamfell Bay.”

You kept the song going, even when one of you would forget the next verse and the other picked up the slack. Under more sobering circumstances, you could recite the song by heart, but you were both buzzed and-or drunk. Too much so in order to recall a silly child’s song.

The one verse you forgot, Prompto knew, and he kept singing as your fingers strummed the music. It went on for a bit until it was only him singing, and the song continued on repeat without a sight in end. Of course, it didn’t seem like either of you cared. The song could go on for eternity as long as someone was willing to sing with you and enjoyed what you did.

Gladio entered the living room after being gone for almost your entire nightly performance. He made his presence known by giving a loud catcall and pumping his fist into the air.

“That’s my girl,” he said and went to stand by Ignis in the kitchen.

Your chest became increasingly heavy, but, somehow, you managed to never miss a note of the Chocobo Song while Prompto sang. He used his hands to gesture toward Noct, who slumped himself into the couch, to join along. All that Noct did was groan in harmony to the song, but he didn’t look so hot himself. You were glad you could hold your alcohol.

Although you tried not to stare, you couldn’t help yourself as Gladio bumped shoulders with Ignis, who still had his arms crossed tightly over his chest. He had long stopped looking your way, but, from the scowl on his face, you could tell that they were talking about you. The bigger man reached for a beer on the counter, popped it with an opener attached to his keys, and tossed the cap into the sink. Ignis took an adjusted step away from the other.

Gladio, who wasn’t quiet to begin with, slurred out, “So, whad’dya think, Iggy? Didn’t I say it? Pretty damn good guitar player, ain’t she? She killed it at the Bazaar.”

You waited for Ignis’ response, but found it difficult to listen over the sound of your own playing.

“That she does seem,” was what you thought you heard him say, but then Prompto started howling as a way to indicate that he was done singing the song on repeat and clapped until you set the guitar down across your lap. You hoped that your nervousness couldn’t be detected through your laughter.

After a couple of minutes, between your failed attempt at eavesdropping and arguing with Prompto about whether or not chocobos went _Wark_ or _Kweh,_ Ignis left the kitchen and disappeared down the hall. A large smile on his face, Gladio pushed between some of his friends and meandered over to the couch. Then, he took a swig of his beer and bumped Noct’s knee with his own.

“How’re you feeling, Your Majesty?” he asked with a menacing chuckle. “Alcohol got you down already?”

His chuckle transitioned into a laugh as Noct groaned and lulled his head to the side, mouth gracelessly pressed against the leather cushion, leaving a big O-shaped lip mark when he turned away again.

You clamped your mouth shut as the worst of it all came out. You weren’t just in a room filled with the prince’s most trusted retainers, you were also in a room with the _prince himself._ So, if Ignis decided to spill his guts about you now, you would have, most decidedly, the worst night in your entire life. But Gladio’s attitude toward you seemed unchanged as he winked at you again and asked why you’d stopped playing.

You needed to nip this whole thing in the bud with Ignis as soon as possible. The last thing you wanted was to be beheaded in front of King Regis for the terrible treason committed against the royal adviser.

“I need to use your bathroom,” you lied, although, with the way you were feeling, you could make it to be true. “Where’s it at?”

“Down the hall,” he said and jerked a thumb in its direction to further the point.

You leaned Sally up against the wall behind your barstool and got up. “Thanks.”

Although Gladio’s quarters were big, they weren’t _that_ big, and there were only so many places Ignis Scientia could have gone. Several partygoers had already left for the evening, making it easier to navigate the premise. The bathroom was vacant and you doubted the man would be hiding in closets, leaving only two places unsearched: the bedroom and, you thought, a spare bedroom.

Ignis wasn’t in Gladio’s poster and exercise equipment occupied room, but the lights were off in the spare bedroom, too. You peered into the spare bedroom, which appeared to be the only tidy place in the muscleman’s quarters, and you leaned in from the door frame. That was when you noticed the sliding glass door to the left of where you stood, which led out onto the balcony. Your lips twisted as you tried to recall ever seeing these while working the Citadel, but you also had never been privileged with seeing a Head of House’s quarters before. Even Lajos’ run had been the first time ever seeing what lay beyond the halls of the commoners and low ranking employees.

Someone occupied the space on the balcony, and you caught sight of sandy blonde hair and a black, leather jacket. Breathing in, you walked the length of the floor, feeling slightly guilty about doing it with your shoes on, even though everyone else was wearing their shoes. You held that breath until you cracked open the glass door and slid it open enough to step outside. Still being early spring, the cool weather left you unprepared, and you fought the shiver on your arms and exposed collarbone from your blouse.

Ignis appeared to be expecting someone from the look on his face, which changed upon seeing you. His eyes returned to the street and building lights below him, and it reminded you exactly how high up you were in the Citadel. Although only the fifteenth floor, you felt much higher. If you could see stars, you imagined that the peak of the Citadel would almost let you touch them.

“Good evening,” he said, tone flat and clipped. You almost hadn’t heard him over the gust that brushed you from behind.

“Uh…hey.” You rubbed your arm and joined him at the balcony railing, all made completely from marble, as if you expected anything different. “Listen, I think we got off on the wrong foot and just wanted to introduce myself properly. My name is—”

“I know what your name is,” he cut you off, eyes still focused on the street below. “I observed it on your uniform. And, no, you’re not mistaken. We’re on exactly the right level of footing, given the circumstances.”

Your mouth snapped shut as his words bit at you moment by moment.

With a nod, gaze downcast, you said, “Fair enough. Then let me apologize for what happened yesterday.”

“Unnecessary,” he said and adjusted his glasses. “You expressed your apology quite well through the incessant eruption of laughter at my expense upon stepping into my office.”

The words went from biting you to taking big chunks out of your dignity. Had you really laughed at him? Your mind reeled backward in time as you struggled to consider what he had just accused you of. But, there it was, clear as day in your memory as you waded through the water into his office. You watched several papers float by like little canoes and lost it. Not because what you witnessed was funny, but how could you tell him that you had a naturally bad habit of laughing when you were scared or nervous? That was the oldest and lamest excuse in the book. As much as you hated to admit it, you were _that_ person who laughed at the most inappropriate time, and everyone thought you were evil.

And so did Ignis, apparently. His reasons for hating you were becoming increasingly obvious—especially, if it was like what Gladio and Nyx had said, and those papers were more important than anything you could imagine.

“I…” You paused, choosing your next set of words carefully. Which, shockingly enough, came as quite a challenging feat for you since you had been drinking. Damn, this wasn’t good. “I wasn’t the one who actually _hit_ the pipe, you know…”

That earned you a sharp intake of breath and a slam of an open fist on the marble railing. From what you had gathered about the royal adviser, he kept his composure quite well, and your presence and thoughtless words were slowly unraveling that.

“Enough. The very least you could do is confess to the act without provoking me to anger.” His eyes finally met yours, a vibrant shade of emerald green. They were actually very nice to look at, except for now, when disdain was all that they seemed to hold.

You shifted your weight and defensively crossed your arms. “Then why haven’t you told Gladio that I’m the one who flooded your room and have him kick me out of here?” Oooh, wrong question, you felt your higher self tell you. Next time, you refused to let alcohol make decisions and ask bad questions for you. But, that was if you were granted another “next time.”

Ignis tore his gaze away and appeared prepared to depart from the balcony. “Because I won’t stoop to the level of ‘tit-for-tat.’ This night is for my friend, and I’m willing to set my vexation aside for his sake.” He reached for the door handle and slid it open. “As it stands, you’ll face what’s coming to you soon enough. Good night, then.”

He pulled the door closed in a less than gentle slam and disappeared through the reflection of the glass from the city lights and cutting darkness from within. You watched the drawn blinds sway from the sudden movement, his words crushing you entirely. Needless to say, that was _not_ how you had wanted the conversation to go. If he had anything to do with it, you’d be in so much more than in fucking trouble by the end of the week, if your reign of the job lasted that long.

Tears pricked your eyes and you fought them back, hating the way his spite made you feel. Now, more than it had, Nyx’s warning weighed heavy on you, and you knew you should’ve bit the bullet and been that snitch that got a stitch.

Nyx.

“Shit,” you breathed in a low hiss and pulled your phone from your jeans pocket.

For the first time that night, you definitively saw the time as the glow of two-thirty three stared back at you, even though you wore your wristwatch for that very reason. Four messages and a missed call from Nyx, all ranging from annoyed to super annoyed.

“ _ **How long you planning on staying at that party?”**_

“ _ **Got an ETA for me?”**_

“ _ **Dude…how long are you going to make me wait up for you?”**_

“ _ **Two o’clock in the morning? Seriously, not cool. I’m on shift tomorrow.”**_

Double shit.

You fumbled with the phone and placed the call. Pressing the phone against your ear, you let it ring and ring, your heart thundering in your chest. Between Ignis’ words and Nyx’s frustration, you were beginning to feel like the crappiest person on Eos.

Finally, on the sixth ring, _“About fucking time, Danny,”_ came through the receiver.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out. “I’m leaving right now.”

A pause caught you off guard, and you wondered if he had hung up. One look at your screen made you realize that he was still there, however. You pressed the phone back to your ear.

“ _What’s wrong?”_ he asked, voice calmer.

You sighed, not sure where to begin, or if you should, but, “That stupid adviser is here,” left your mouth before you could stop yourself.

You half expected Nyx to find the instance funny, but a sigh was all that came through. _“Shit. I forgot that he and the Shield are close. I take it that the prince is there, too?”_

You hadn’t meant it, but then the tears were there, damming your eyes, and one wormed its way down your face. “Yeah,” you said and hoped that he couldn’t detect the emotion in it. “He basically threatened me when I tried talking to him.”

“ _Who, Scientia or the prince?”_

You really didn’t want to use Ignis’ name more than you had to, the word itself feeling like acid being splashed onto your tongue. “The adviser,” you said.

Nyx went silent again. Your eyes darted back into the empty guest room. Luckily for you, no one had decided to intrude, leaving you to your own privacy.

Then, you heard, _“Just get your things and head over here. I don’t want you wandering the streets by yourself longer than necessary.”_ A shorter pause, and then, _“Do you want me to meet you at the Citadel?”_

“No,” you snapped although you hadn’t meant to. Explaining yourself, you said, “I think it’s best that you aren’t seen with me right now, especially in this part of the Citadel.”

You knew he wouldn’t agree. Nyx was just that honorable and noble of a person. Sometimes, you hated it. Other times, you wondered why he bothered with you at all. A thirty-two year old man had more important things to do than babysit someone that many years younger than him. Still, you loved him for it. Your very own substitute big brother.

“ _I’m going to be keeping watch for you,”_ he said. _“Text me when you get to my street, all right? Don’t leave me hanging again.”_

You snorted into a laugh. “You didn’t have to wait up for me, you know.”

He didn’t share the sentiment. _“Don’t be dumb, Danny.”_

\/\/\/

When you grabbed your guitar and case, you knew that Ignis was happy to see you go. He sat next to Noct on the couch, who had slumped over the armrest, fallen into an alcohol induced slumber. Prompto was in a similar state, curled up under the coffee table. Most everyone had left by the time you returned from the balcony, and Gladio seemed utterly crushed that you were leaving “so soon.”

“You can stay in the guest room,” he offered as you slung your strap over your shoulder. “I wouldn’t even call that a full set, either.” It took you a moment to realize that he was referring to the lack of amount of music you played that evening, and you knew that you had to agree.

In lieu of everything, you had had enough “fun” to last you until the next toilet you got to clean, provided that you still had a job.

Your eyes passing between Gladio and even, gods forbid, that prick adviser, you shrugged. “In that case, consider it on the house.”

As you pulled the door open, Gladio came around to your side, with a surefire intent to stop you. He reached for the door and you made it out into the hall before he could touch or grab you.

His somber expression grew heavier as he asked, “Where you gotta be that you can’t stay a while longer?”

You swallowed, definitely opting to be more choosey with your next set of words. “My brother’s. He’s expecting me.”

\/\/\/

You’d been too tired and emotionally drained to grab your custodial uniform from the closet, and hoped that you still had a job left to go to in order to reclaim it. If not, maybe Nyx would do it. But you had asked so much from him already, it wasn’t the first thing you thought to say when you finally arrived at his apartment, just a little after three in the morning.

Everything was dark inside, except for the glow from the small television. Apparently, he’d been keeping himself awake and entertained while waiting for you with many rounds of Putt Putt Terror, a first person survival horror game that put the player behind the wheel of a car out in the middle of nowhere, trying to escape from weirdos who wanted to kill you.

He returned to the paused game after letting you in, padding around in a tank top, sweats, and socks. Seating himself on the floor in front of the small flat screen, he unpaused the game long enough for you to see his flipped car, weirdos bashing the windshields in around him with bats. It was the first time all night that you felt that you could genuinely laugh about something without reservations.

As usual, Nyx didn’t agree with you.

“I can’t beat this level,” he said and restarted the game.

You swayed on your feet, staring at the recliner facing the television. It was old and ripped in a few places, but it stretched all the way out with a pull of the lever, and you’d spent many a night on it when Nyx didn’t want to share the cot on the floor. It was all that you could do to keep from toppling into it, especially with Sally on your back. You deposited the case in the corner behind the recliner. Nyx didn’t say anything, his concentration on the game as he pulled the car out of an abandoned car lot and onto the road. You stepped around him and opened the door on the other side of the room, leading into his tiny bathroom.

The fan came on when you flipped the switch to the light and closed the door behind you. Studying your face in the mirror over the sink, you recognized the red flush from the exhaustion of walking, working, and the alcohol. And, maybe, some of the crying. You wanted to ignore that part, though. Fanning loose strands of hair out of your face so that you looked less like a disaster and more acceptable, your hands raked over your scalp until you felt the flow of your locks move freely between your fingers, instead of like a chocobo’s nest.

You knew where Nyx kept his nicer combs, but didn’t want to leave traces of your hair in between the teeth. He wouldn’t like that. In fact, you knew where he kept most everything in the bathroom, and helped yourself to a washcloth with a bit of face cleanser to wipe away your makeup. The hot water soothed your skin and you breathed into the warm, wet fabric of the cloth as you let it fall over your face.

When you finished, you dropped the washcloth off into his hamper and left the bathroom. His complex was too poor to have its own laundry room, and he often voiced his envy of you owning your own stackable in the trailer. As a result, Nyx was reduced to washing his own laundry in the standup shower and hanging them along the clothesline over his bed. It bummed you out the way he lived. Even as a Kingsglaive, he lived in worse conditions than you, although he never complained about it. Sometimes, when he came over to hang out with you, you let him do his laundry there.

His single bedroom apartment barely had enough room to turn around. You thought it would drive you crazy to live that small, but he always shrugged off your complaints. Poor as he was, he still found ways to buy the things he wanted, like a game console so you both could play together.

Before making your way back into the front room, you smoothed down your blouse and straightened your jeans. His car flipped over a cliff just as you passed behind him and flung yourself into the recliner.

“Damn game,” he said, a notable look in his eyes that betrayed his desire to chuck the controller.

This time, you restrained yourself from laughing. Even a thirty-two year old man could throw a temper tantrum when it came to video games.

“Play Grandpa’s Cellar, then,” you said. It was another horror game, first person, and the player had to escape from a cellar that grandpa put him in. Typical horror-survival game, but, boy, was grandpa scary. His sudden presence had even caused Nyx to jump a few times.

He groaned. “It’s after three in the morning.” But he changed game discs in his console and booted it up.

“I doubt either of us are getting to sleep,” you said, in spite of the yawn that followed.

“Speak for yourself,” and then he caught the contagious yawn after.

He sat on the floor and backed himself up until he leaned against the recliner to keep you from rocking in it. You adjusted yourself so that your legs hung over one armrest and the rest of you pressed up against the other. The music on the title screen always made you feel creeped out, but the twinkle time music in the game levels made it worse. Nyx appeared unfazed.

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” you said, words mostly absorbed into the armrest.

You saw him shrug, his concentration on the screen as he sought for a wrench and gear.

“I just wish you’d be a little more careful with what you do,” he said. “Although, I should’ve remembered that the Shield and royal adviser were good friends. The prince, too.”

You hoped that your sigh would release the heavy weight inside of you, but, to no avail. After a moment of silence went by, you said, “How do you make someone not hate you?”

He breathed a low chuckle. “Are you talking about Scientia? I think you’re at a dead end with that one, Danny. But can you really blame the guy?”

“I told him that I wasn’t the one who hit the pipe and I thought he was going to lose it.”

Nyx shifted his position so that he sat cross-legged against the recliner. “He’s not the one you need to be convincing that to. You’ve gotta understand his position. He lost _everything_ of value in that office, and some of it he’ll never be able to recover. Important things, things that concern the prince and His Majesty, and other things about what’s going on in Niflheim.”

Niflheim. It wasn’t as though you weren’t aware of the things going on outside the wall, but being protected under a glass dome designed for a hundred years of peace, especially after moving into Insomnia, made you realize that it was something you’d taken for granted. Nyx, on the other hand, faced that antithesis everyday as a Glaive. Sometimes, you’d forgotten that Nyx was a magically charged warrior for King Regis who fought back the daemons and Niflheim that spawned up. You, well, your greatest battles were with toilets and busted pipes, it seemed.

You bet that his mother, Rosie, and sister, Selena, would be proud of him, were they still alive. It had taken a long time for him to tell you that they were dead. You were clueless about it for the first several months of your friendship until you forced him to show you where he lived. You were aware of his reluctance, and only after you recognized the small memorial to them on his table did you understand why. He never went into much detail, but you knew that Niflheim had been the cause.

You made sure to never catch him looking when you stared at the little shrine made to them, pictures, a birthday card, and some trinkets hanging on display. You felt that he wouldn’t like the intrusion, since it had never been his immediate intention to confess something of that magnitude to you. Perhaps you had been intruding then, and you wondered if he still felt that way now. You tried never to bring up anything about his family for that reason, especially since he always turned it around on you about when the last time had been since you’d seen yours.

“I understand that,” you said after a long pause that made you almost forget what you two had been discussing. “It’s just…” You groaned. “I dunno. He was just so _mean_ about it.”

Again, Nyx chuckled, but it felt a little heartier this time around. “Well, Danny, no offense, but did you go up to him smelling like alcohol? Because you really reek of alcohol right now.”

The confession startled you into a sitting position, jerking the recliner forward and propelling Nyx’s face into his own lap. The controller tumbled from his hands as you shot up like a rocket and made for the bathroom door. This, unfortunately, allowed enough time for grandpa to hurl the door open to the jail cells and gobble Nyx up.

“Seriously?” He groaned and kicked the controller away with his foot.

“I’m putting on some of your cologne,” you announced from the doorframe of the bathroom.

His eyes widened, as though you had announced you planned to set his apartment on fire. “No, you’re not.” He jumped to his feet and followed after you into the bathroom. “That stuff is expensive and it’s not going to make the smell go away. If you’re really concerned, then take a shower.”

“It’s too late for a shower.”

He cornered you in the small bathroom, pinning you between the sink and glass shower door, before seizing the cologne bottle from your hands. Shaking the bottle at you as his frame towered over yours, he said, “Then it’s too late to put on cologne.” At your childish pout, he rolled his eyes and pushed you out of the bathroom. “Go set up the pillows and blankets in the front room. I think it’s time for bed.”

“What a bad host,” you grumbled, but intentionally loud enough for him to hear. “Didn’t you have a date tonight? Where’s she?”

He called back from the bathroom, “That was the same girl I broke the date off with the night we went to the Bazaar. I don’t think she’ll be talking to me again.”

You felt bad about having ruined two of his date nights, and any future dates with someone that he may have liked. You didn’t know who this chick was—Nyx never kissed and tattled—but you suspected he had liked her well enough. Still, if he chose you over other girls, then you couldn’t help but feel that much more important.

You pulled several blankets and pillows out from his tiny linen closet, next to his poor excuse for a kitchen and tossed them all out onto the floor in a scattered mess. He kept the cot under his bed, and you slid it out from under the frame. Shoving both the recliner and large cotton chair against the wall, you placed the cot in front of the television and flattened it with your hands and feet. Arranging the blankets the way you always did when you stayed over, you positioned yours and Nyx’s pillows faced toward the television. Once satisfied at your handiwork, you popped out Grandpa’s Cellar, and scoured his modest movie collection in low light for the same movie you always watched together.

By the time he walked back in, you had already played through all of the upcoming features in a comedy B movie with subpar actors. Still, you loved this movie. He stood and watched the screen for only a few moments before sighing.

“This one _again?_ ” he asked and knelt down to the blankets on his side of the floor bed.

“It’s tradition. We _always_ watch this one on our sleepovers,” you complained.

“It’s weird when you call it that,” he said, but smiled. “Almost like I’m in primary school again.”

“No one calls it ‘primary school,’ Nyx. It makes you sound old and from a different time period.”

His glare wasn’t meant to be taken seriously, and you thought he might tackle you into the blankets. Before he could, you turned toward his bed, his small dresser pushed between the wall and foot of the bed. Sliding open the bottom drawer, you grabbed the set of pajamas you forced him to keep in there during the times you’d stay over. You wondered how many women had feasted their eyes on your Li’l Malbuddy character sweats when Nyx would bring them back to his place, and if that was part of the reason he couldn’t keep a girlfriend.

Making a beeline for the bathroom, you closed the door and locked it before he could warn you to stay out of his cologne. You changed and bundled your clothes into your arms. 

It wasn’t as though you slept at his place often, but, when you did, it felt special. It was a nice feeling, almost like being close to family again. It made all the difference of going home alone, when your brother and father lived so far away. And there was truth in the merit of your dating life. Love had been on the backburner for quite a while, but it wasn’t like you didn’t think about it. You just needed to find the right guy, one who couldn’t charm you the way the others had, and then leave you crying on the curb.

Nyx was the in between of the best of both worlds, with no expectations or strings attached. It was almost as though he really thought of you as his little sister, too. You wondered if you and Selena would’ve gotten along, were she still alive.

You tossed your clothes on top of your guitar case and climbed under the blankets and sleeping bags just as the beginning scene opened across the skyline of the ocean’s horizon. Dramatic music cued, as did the initial credits and movie title.

Nyx’s eyes were on the screen, one arm propped behind his pillow to steady his head. You watched him as he watched the movie, until he glanced sideways at you.

Being stared at in silence must’ve made him uncomfortable. With a smile, he chuckled out, “What?”

You really didn’t know. You didn’t want to get all sappy with thanking him for taking you in at three in the morning after a terrible party experience, or the fact that he looked out for you when you did a less than stellar job of that yourself, even volunteering to tell your boss what really happened in the greenhouse office. Perhaps, it was also the alcohol making you feel all sentimental.

But all you said was, “They gave me the next two days off from work.”

His smile disappeared. “Unpaid suspension?”

“In a sense.”

He exhaled through his nose. “You need to tell them what happened.”

You nodded. “I’ll be getting some of the hours back on Saturday, though.”

“For the soccer game?”

“Yeah. I guess it’s supposed to be a big one.” You sank your head into the pillow and stared up at his ceiling. The fan swirled above you both.

“It is,” he agreed. “I’ll be working that one, too. Even the prince is supposed to be attending.”

You made a low grumble in the back of your throat. “Great.”

“Exactly.” He reached over and poked your cheek, and you swatted him away. “If the prince is going to be there, then so will the Crownsguard. And if the Crownsguard are there…”

You rolled your eyes, not liking where this was going. “So will his retainers.”

Nyx nodded. “Just stay away from Scientia, all right?”

“I think he’ll be doing enough of that for the both of us.”

He smiled and turned his attention back to the movie while you traded glances between him and the television. Then, doing something you almost never did, but felt that it had been the alcohol giving you the courage to do so, you curled up against him, hands pressed to his chest. The best part was when he never asked why, but, somehow understood the need to be close. Or, like you, chalked it up to alcohol. And, after the day you had, all that you wanted was to make yourself small enough to disappear. With Nyx around, he was the hero of the Kingsglaive. You heard Libertus make comments before, both in jest and in retort, but you didn’t care. Nyx was your hero, too.

He rearranged his other arm behind his head so that he could wrap the other around your waist, eyes still on the movie. The sound of the music track and characters’ voices moved in and out of your hearing and you closed your eyes. 

The last thing you heard was Nyx, who said, “Falling asleep when _you’re_ the one who put on the movie.”

Chuckling into his shirt, you pressed your face into the crook of his arm and chest.

Tomorrow, you’d figure out what you were going to do about your job.

\/\/\/

When Nyx said that he was on shift tomorrow, he wasn’t fucking kidding.

“Wake up,” he commanded and kept kicking you with the ball of his foot until you complied.

Quarter after ten or not, it was still too damn early. And your head pounded from the oncoming hangover. Dammit, that made two in three days, the stale taste of beer coating your tongue, no matter how many times you washed saliva over it. You could even still feel the alcohol sloshing around in your bloodstream, the headache making sure of that.

Ever the gentleman, Nyx let you shower first, but reminded you to only squirt a _quarter_ sized drop of his best shampoo and conditioner into your hair. Like his cologne, that crap wasn’t cheap. You grumbled and complained and wished you had gotten to sleep in later to whittle away your hangover, but Nyx didn’t like lingering guests in his apartment, and that meant you, too. He also didn’t give a crap about your hangover and even made fun of you for it.

You rode the train together, him standing against the pole and you in the last vacant seat you managed to find. Again, quite the gentleman, he let you have it and doze off while he stood above you, donned in Glaive attire, scrolling through messages on his phone. You knew that he used the cell phone as a distraction to avoid looking at others on the train; most of the time, it appeared that people felt a kind of alarm around them. Maybe it was because they could use magic at will, but your Glaive friends never had that impact on you.

When you both exited the train at the same stop, he grabbed your arm and waited until you faced him squarely.

“And what are we going to do while we’re here?” he asked as though talking to a toddler.

You felt antagonistic, especially since he’d kicked you out of bed after less than seven hours of sleep.

“We’re going to grab the things I left in my custodial closet last night and then head to the arcade.” You sported a grin to complement his frown. “After all, I get the next two days off.”

Either he didn’t catch onto your playing or he just wasn’t biting. Spinning you around until you faced the front of the Citadel, he said, “Noooo. You’re going to go in and, after you grab your things, you’re going to find your boss and tell him what _really_ happened.”

You turned to look over your shoulder at him. “But I already did that yesterday.”

“Great. Now tell him again until he agrees to take you off unpaid suspension.” Then, with a push forward, he walked off in the opposite direction. “I’m headed to the main gate. Text me later to let me know how it goes.”

You frowned and stared down at the same set of clothes you’d worn the night before. Even after the shower, you smelled like alcohol. You reminded yourself that, next time, you would leave a second set of clothes in Nyx’s drawer, along with the pajamas.

You managed to avoid all Glaives in C District, although you caught sight of Crowe and Libertus walking together in the Glaive courtyard, the image of the charred shrub quite the highlight to accent the intense conversation they appeared to be having. You almost thought about taking a picture and sending it to Nyx, but he’d probably scold you. One, for not staying on task, two, for disturbing him while working, and three, for rubbernecking.

You took a picture on your phone anyway, making sure to get the charred shrub nicely in the frame.

After retrieving your uniform and shoving it into your makeup bag, you hung out in the closet to avoid being seen by others and dialed Quinzi’s number. Fortunately for you, he answered on the third ring.

_“This is Quinzi.”_

“Hey,” you began, and then realized that you had no idea what you were actually going to say. Stumbling over your words, you finally managed with a less than coherent, “I wanna tell you something.”

He paused and you thought you heard rustling in the background. Then, he said, _“Great, I actually needed to talk to you anyway. Where are you at?”_

You weren’t quite sure how to answer that. Surely, he wasn’t expecting you to be at the Citadel today, did he? Not only were you on unpaid suspension, it wasn’t even time for your shift even if you _were_ scheduled to work.

“At the Citadel,” you replied, nonetheless. “I was hoping to catch up with you.”

_“Even better. I’m at the Community Center helping maintenance set up the Jumbotron for this weekend. Practice is going on today and they’re going to test run it. Do you mind taking the shuttle down here? I’m out here on the playing field.”_

The playing field was the second largest in Insomnia, only beaten out by the Royal Sporting Grounds meant specifically for nobility and royalty, especially from other royal neighboring countries. Those kinds of events wouldn’t see the likes of your kind there. Ever. Especially since it wasn’t even located at the Citadel.

“Yeah,” you said and adjusted the bundle under your arms. “I’ll be out there as soon as I can.”

_“Great. See you in a few minutes.”_

Tucking the phone into your pocket, you made your way outside, past the train stop, and out toward the circle drop-off, where the shuttle would come around every fifteen minutes. It had been a long time since you’d been to the Community Center to work the events, and you thought that the last time had been the Fantasy Faire last year. The only good news about not having a job, hypothetically, _if_ you’d gotten fired, of course, was that you’d finally be able to attend.

You tried to make that the highlight, but it wasn’t working.

\/\/\/

The one thing that the Community Center had that the Royal Sporting Grounds did not was a convention center and this one stacked three stories high and spanned over seven hundred and fifty thousand square feet. Behind the convention center was the recreational center, home to the football and soccer playing field, a baseball and kickball diamond, tennis courts, and a newly built stone building for bathrooms, a snack shack, and announcer’s booth. King Regis had approved the funding for two sets of massive outdoor aluminum spectator bleachers, one on the home side and one for the visitors, at the playing field that stretched fifteen rows and seated close to a thousand spectators, if you had to guess. The announcer’s booth was squished nicely at the halfway point of the bleachers on the home side.

A gymnasium sat on the west side of the convention center to host all of the royal basketball, sparring, wrestling, and what-have-you events. What need did the Insomnia high school have of their own equipment when they could just use the Community Center’s? And, actually, that did happen…with more frequency than others would’ve liked because some of those kids needed major discipline.

Then, there was a nice sized park on the east side of the convention center that made the Royal Courtyard appear small. It was where the Fantasy Faire was held last year, and would probably be held there again. You liked the park the best because it felt like home out in Galdin Quay, nestled in trees and nature that made you forget that you were in the middle of a city. Yes, the Community Center was a crowning jewel in Insomnia that held all of the big games, events and brought in tourism from all over the region. The majority of the custodial staff worked the area around the Community Center, mostly with landscaping and outdoor maintenance. And now, you would be, too. Even if for only a day.

You met Quinzi down at the playing field as he observed the maintenance crew installing the last part of the oversized Jumbotron. You had to crane your head to take in its entire sixteen hundred square dimension, the rectangular video screen taking up the majority of the board.

“Guess when you’re the king, the size and price don’t matter,” you said to Quinzi, who only nodded his agreement. “Did it _really_ need to be that big?”

“Good thing we don’t get paid to ask any of those questions,” he said and turned to gesture to the rest of the playing field, all done up in Astroturf to make the cookie cut corners of the field appear nice and clean. “Saturday’s game is actually a pretty big deal, so please be here on time.”

“Aren’t I always?” you said and finished with a smile that he actually returned. “So, I wanted to tell you what really happened in Adviser Scientia’s office.”

He flapped a wrist at you. “You already did. Harv’s on unpaid suspension until further notice, but we’re trying to get him back on the crew, especially since things are going to start getting hectic later on and we can’t afford to be down a man who knows what he’s doing.” A pause. “Except for hitting pipes and flooding offices, of course.”

The last part caused you both to laugh and he motioned for you to casually walk the length of the playing field while you spoke.

“What’s so important that we’ve gotta have all hands on deck?” you asked, glancing sideways at him. He seemed less stress at this particular time, the permanent frown on his lips actually trying to quiver into a playful smile.

“Events. Lots and lots of them planned throughout the summer and into the fall season. Our department supervisor seems to have convinced His Majesty that we need to rally the community together. I guess times have been a tad difficult, but I’m not worthy enough to know the details beyond that.”

You nodded, but didn’t exactly understand what he meant.

Quinzi continued, “Saturday’s game is important because a working man in one of the Bigwig Houses has a family member playing the home game, and King Regis wants to pay extra special support to the runt. Although our king doesn’t leave the Citadel very often anymore, he’s trying to make up for it in other ways to show his support.”

You shrugged. “Don’t some of the House Aristos work these games anyway? What’s the big deal?”

He chuckled. “Because the working man is the King’s Shield’s retainer’s grandson.”

Oh. Despite that ridiculously long title, that changed things.

At the sight of your confusion, he seemed to feel the need to ask, “You haven’t worked the sporting events, have you?”

You shook your head. “Like I said, I’ve only ever worked C District. You’ve had me work the Fantasy Faire every year and the one Chocobo and Moogle Festival we had, but that’s it. I did the usual: set-up, chauffeuring, putting out unruly camp fires, things like that. Anything I’ve seen of the Community Center has had to come from my own time.”

“Fair enough.” He cleared his throat. “You’re right, it’s not unusual for some of the upper-class folk to jump into the fray and work the sporting events. That usually happens only if one of their kids or a friend’s kid is directly involved, though. When we get into what’s happening on Saturday, however, that’s a whole different ballgame, if you’ll pardon my pun.”

The smile came through your words as you said, “Of course.”

“When the Head of Houses and their retainers become involved, resources spent skyrocket. It drives up the cost of extra necessities, like security, custodial, equipment—things like that. The Crownsguard and Kingsglaive, too.”

That explicitly explained why Nyx had been hired to work the game. You thought it was just his normal shift carrying him down to the field that day.

“Why aren’t they playing at the Royal Sporting Grounds?” you asked. “Seems like a much better idea than having to spend all of this extra money.”

“I heard that was an option, actually. But the kid’s got a lot of friends and he wants them to be able to attend the game, too. Can’t do that if they take it to the sporting grounds. Besides, the rival team isn’t nobility. The king just wanted to make it simple. I guess he thinks that if the community can get involved, it will bring us closer together.” 

How kind of the king, you thought, although you had never really heard anything bad about him. He seemed generous beyond all of his means, taxed people fairly and accordingly, and it wasn’t like you often heard of random beheadings because of silly mistakes made.

Speaking of silly mistakes…

“Did Adviser Scientia come speak to you?” you blurted out, and then realized that you didn’t want to know the answer after all.

Too late, however, and Quinzi stopped walking to stare at you. “No. Why, should he?”

You stalled your movement along with him, hoping that you weren’t treading on something you’d later regret. “I caught up with him last night and he still seems rather pissed. I thought that he’d see about trying to have me fired or something.”

The humor in Quinzi’s face strained until you realized that you had broached a really serious subject. Ooops.

“Listen, Hon.” You were in for it now. He only called you, “Hon” when some really serious shit was about to go down and you were inevitably going to get caught up in it. “That thing I wanted to talk to you about? It’s your job. I’ve got a meeting to attend about you with Mr. Big Boss Himself the Monday following the game. Now, I’m sure I can convince him to bring you back on the schedule, but that all depends on how Saturday’s game goes.”

You knew where he was going, considering that Nyx had warned you about the same thing.

“The prince and his retainers are going to be there,” you cut him off. “Yeah, I heard about that.”

Quinzi wagged a finger at you. “ _Please_ be on your best behavior if you happen to run into the royal adviser while you’re working. And I’m pretty sure that that’s going to happen because they’re all on the staff list to help work the event. That’s the other reason for all of the extra Crownsguard and Kingsglaive.”

You couldn’t really see the prince and royal retainers being much help in a soccer game. Well, actually, you could definitely see Gladio doing it, given his casual, easy going state at the party the night before. And, if it was true that the kid was the grandson of his family’s retainer, then you had no doubt that that had been what sparked the muscleman’s intent to help out.

Your boss seemed to be waiting for your promise, and you slapped your sides and groaned.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll behave. It’s just, if you happen to hear from him about last night, don’t believe a word of what he says, all right?”

Quinzi shifted his weight to one leg and crossed his arms, suddenly interested, or, at least, appeared to be regretfully interested.

“What did you do?” was what he came at you with.

How rude.

Again, you slapped your sides and looked away. “I tried to apologize and he jumped down my throat and said that I was getting what was coming to me.” Or something like that. Pretty close, if you remembered correctly.

Quinzi didn’t much seem to care as he pushed you gently with his hand to keep walking, even though there wasn’t anyone really around to hear your conversation. The only people on the field were the maintenance workers up on the Jumbotron, and they were up, like, a million feet high.

“Seriously,” he said, voice low. “Stay away from him as much as you can on Saturday. Be polite, even if he insults you. Do whatever it takes to keep him from complaining about you and you _might_ still find yourself with a job on Monday, got it?” You looked at him, quite offended. “I mean it, Hon. I know how you get when someone crosses you.”

You weren’t that bad, despite what he said. You just didn’t appreciate insensitive, stupid people and people who thought that they ruled the red carpet around you, while you had to sweep up their crap into the dustpan behind them.

A pregnant pause fell between you two as you each stared the other down.

Finally, you cracked and said, “Fine. I’ll be good.”

He seemed to appreciate that answer and patted your back twice more, reassuringly, this time. “That’s a good girl. Now then, let me show you Saturday’s set up before you go home.”

\/\/\/

On the way home from the Citadel, you stopped at the music store and bought yourself a tin whistle to practice on for the two days that you were on unpaid suspension. You thought it would be a great addition to your costume for the Fantasy Faire, and you still had every intention of asking for it off, especially if you got to keep your job. It was fairly easy to learn and you could already play three songs with minor difficulty by the time Nyx text to ask how things had gone.

You may have fudged the facts a little, saying that reclaiming your job was a thing already in the bag, and that you just had to play nice on Saturday. He seemed convinced enough by it and stopped texting you after a few minutes. Probably to return to his shift, you figured, but then Gladio shot off a text shortly after.

_**“I still gotta pay you for last night.”**_

You stared at the text for a few moments, deliberating about how to respond and even if you should right away. Clearly, as Ignis assured, the muscleman did _not_ know about your evil custodian, royal retainer office flooding deeds. For the moment, you were grateful. But, you also had to think of something else to say. In a way, avoiding them seemed to be the best alternative until Saturday passed.

Then he texted again when you took too long to reply.

_**“Prompto wants to know if he’ll get to hear his Chocobro play again soon.”**_

This time, you pushed the phone close to your face as you observed the word, “Chocobro.” What the hell was that? Either way, it had you cracking up something fierce.

Setting the tin whistle on the table, you leaned into your chair and sent him back with, _**“What in Ramuh’s name is a ‘Chocobro?’ And I already said that you didn’t need to pay me. I didn’t even play for that long last night. I think I spent most of the time strumming chords.”**_

Not even a minute passed when you received his, _**“Prom said that you and he shared a moment singing the Chocobo song, so that makes you Chocobros or something. And all right, I get’cha. In that case, how about we reschedule something and you come back out to play?”**_

This text sent alarm bells off in your head. As nice as money sounded, you were lucky to leave last night’s party with only a dented sense of dignity. The next time, you had no doubt that Ignis would do something more to spur the inevitable annihilation of your employment. And that would snowball into something so terrible that you didn’t even want to contemplate on it. You heavily debated about texting him about the soccer game, but that was a can of worms that could wait to be opened. Maybe you could avoid the retainers altogether. Hide out in the bathrooms or something.

Doubtful.

After several minutes with no response, you finally settled on, _**“We can talk about it.”**_

You hoped that it would put a stop to his nonsense, but he fired immediately back with, _**“When? I’m flexible.”**_

Yes. You were very sure that he was. Until Saturday played out, you weren’t going to offer him any kind of definitive response. Deflecting the comment, you instead texted back, _**“Are you? Can you do that one yoga pose—you know, the one where you sit up on your elbows and rock your body far enough into an L shape? I hear that’s a pretty sexy pose if you can do it just right.”**_

You snickered to yourself as you hit send and set the phone on the table away from you. You had a knack for harmless flirtation as a defense mechanism that sent any unsuspecting man into sputtering confusion. They would be caught between not knowing if you were serious and too nervous to confront you about it, or, the more likely reaction, too shy to respond and would leave the situation alone.

When your phone beeped again, not even a minute later, you were curious to see which range Gladio fell into.

_**“I’ll rock you, if you want.”**_

Bested at your own game, you were glad that no one was around to spot your budding blush and shoved the phone as far away from you without texting him back. No longer in the mood to practice the tin whistle, you flipped on your television and occupied your time with a romantic comedy movie.

\/\/\/

You spent your unpaid suspended days playing video games, practicing the tin whistle, and watching hopeless romantic comedies on the couch, drinking coffee and apple cider. It reminded you that the Candace Spring Fruit Festival would be opening that weekend while you worked the game. You took a day off from work and went with Crowe, who naturally—loosely used was the term, as a Glaive was never off-duty—had the day off. Nyx and Libertus had to work, and you both took the bus down to the Candace Hill Farms and spent the day going from ranch to ranch, gossiping with the older woman, and brought back three bags full of different fruits to make pies, turnovers, and dumplings with.

It was a no rush sort of event, the farms remaining open over the course of the spring and summer, then closing briefly before opening for the fall events. Still, you were jonesing for a berry pie, and you’d go alone if you had to.

Pie was still on your brain by the time Saturday rolled around and you met Nyx at the Community Center field. There were only two hours before the event, and you, Quinzi, and several of the other custodians had a lot to do before game time. And, on such grand days, it was fitting that the clouds had rolled in overhead, the gusts picked up, and the temperature cooled dramatically.

Nyx glanced up to the sky. “Tut-tut, looks like rain.”

“Don’t say that,” you scolded and held yourself to ward off a shiver. You knew you should’ve brought the custodial slicker, even though it made you look like a short, bright, banana. Still, it felt good to be back in your normal uniform, almost like you still had a job. Your shoes had even dried out well after the flood incident. “Why do you have to say curse words like that?”

He chuckled and gestured with his head toward the playing field. “I’ve got to head back toward the Citadel. Crowe and I have security detail until the prince and the Crownsguard arrive.”

“Psh,” you blew air through your lips and rolled your eyes, feigning annoyance. “Whatever. I’ll go see if Quinzi needs help.”

“Don’t get into trouble,” he said and wagged a finger. “Otherwise, I’ll have to be the security guard that detains you.”

“You’d like that,” you retorted and he turned heel and left.

The walk to the playing field always took the longest, and if it was going to rain, there was little doubt in your mind that you’d be soaked by the time you got down there.

\/\/\/

Fortunately, for you, the rain hadn’t let before you made it to the chain-linked fence, Quinzi—and only Quinzi—on the field. His attention was on the Jumbotron and he stood there long after you joined his side. Whether he heard you coming or not, you hadn’t the slightest idea. Then, your eyes saw what must’ve captured his, and you tried your damnedest not to laugh.

There, right across the screen of the Jumbotron, had been taped a large cardboard flap with the words crudely scrawled on it, “OUT OF ORDER.”

A gust of wind passed between the two of you, and you imagined a tumbleweed rolling by, just like in the movies. If you had to guess, your fellow custodians were responsible for Quinzi’s current aggravation, as always.

“You know,” Quinzi began, drawing the words out, nice and slow, “I’m not sure which I’m more of: impressed that they managed to climb the thing to put that up there, or livid because, in the amount of time it took them to tape the cardboard sign to the front of the Jumbotron, they could’ve just left me a note so that I could have this looked at before the game. Now, there’s no time.”

You didn’t want to look at him—didn’t want to see that expression of displeasure and the hell that came with it—so you kept firm and stared at the broken Jumbotron. “Didn’t it work for Thursday’s practice?”

He snorted out a, “Yes,” before storming off of the field, you in tow. “It doesn’t matter. There’s no time to fix it, and the bigwigs are already phoning and radioing in for transportation and other crap for set-up.” Then, he motioned outside of the fence, where the green and black enclosed utility vehicle sat, minus the doors and back windshield. They’d been missing since you started working for the Citadel. “Take the 4x6 up to the main gate and pick up the prince’s Shield, all right?”

Gladio was up there? Damn. The moment of revelation was now. In just a few short moments, he’d know you were a custodian, and then the questions would keep-a coming. Eventually, you had no doubt, he’d learn that you were that bonehead custodian associated with flooding his friend’s office.

Quinzi prodded you in the side with the utility vehicle keys, which you took after he popped you out of your thoughts, and hooked the carabiner on your belt loop.

“Take him wherever he wants to go,” your boss said, “although, there’s little doubt that he’ll end up down here before long.”

He waved you off and you roared up the engine, dread filling every part of your body. Nyx’s words kept coming at you again and again, and you knew that you’d have to bite your tongue, even for a day, if it meant successfully keeping your job. You could do that. You really could.

…Maybe.

You passed Reimund and Ermin, Ermin at the wheel, in your department’s second of three utility vehicles. Theirs had a larger bed to make up for no enclosure, and their green and black 4x2 was known as the “Green Convertible” by all custodians. Reimund waved, but Ermin sped away toward the field. Wouldn’t they have a surprise waiting for them that involved an angry interrogation from Quinzi regarding the Jumbotron? You snickered at the thought, wishing for just one moment that you could be a fly on the wall to witness it.

Lambert and Chadwick rode in the last enclosed 4x4, Ancil riding in the bed. For the first time, you realized that at least three custodial districts were working together for the soccer event, and wondered how many hands were actually on deck for this kind of overtime. They, too, appeared to be on their way down to the playing field.

You hadn’t often gotten the chance to drive the utility vehicle from the Citadel to the Community Center, considering that the drive was almost two miles in such a tiny vehicle, and took almost ten minutes, between having to stop for real vehicles, much bigger than yours—one douche even almost sideswiped you when you turned onto the main Citadel road—pedestrians, and all around people bombarding you with questions about where _exactly_ the game was going to be held at.

Two hours early, and people were still showing up. You hoped that you wouldn’t have a ten minute drive back to look forward to, even if Gladio had places to go and people to see. Quinzi would be less than pleased with you.

Speeding around a car that took too long to decide what it wanted to do, you pressed the metal pedal as far down against the floorboard as you could go, drumming a hand against the steering wheel. It felt nice to have the wind rushing at you from each side of the utility vehicle, but the plastic windshield made it difficult to hear anything going on around you. One time, you almost didn’t hear a person calling to you with silly soccer questions because the obnoxious blare of the engine and muted windshield distorted all incoming sound.

The tip of the main gate appeared behind a line of trees and a wall of concrete, and you turned onto the road leading to the security access and barrier stop. Two armed security guards watched you with a kind of curiosity that made you uncomfortable, and you slowed the vehicle until you were stopped in front of the bar. They looked more like combative soldiers, or advanced hunters, but you were on a mission.

Waving to the one on your left, you peeked your head out of the vehicle and said, “I’m supposed to be picking up the prince’s Shield.”

The guard stared at you, and you wondered if he was going to call BS on your claim, but one glance to the other guard had him nodding at you.

He directed you down the road with his arm and said, “Make a right when you get to the end here. They’re waiting for you there.”

They’re? There were more than one? Only one could properly sit in the utility vehicle at one time. You doubted that the House Aristos would want to sit in the back in the bed, where all of the garbage and crap got thrown. These thoughts left you puzzled long after the guard raised the bar and waved you through, to which you absentmindedly complied.

You turned the corner, a spray of trees lined the circle in front of the main gate side doors, leading into the backend of the Citadel that, you imagined, would eventually take you up through B District, where you were no longer welcome. Hopefully, only temporarily. 

The closer you drove to the circle, the sooner you realized that a single person stood on the corner, apparently in wait. Their crossed arms signified impatience, their head craned toward the sky. In no way did this individual, clearly a man, you garnered, share Gladio’s body type, instead being slender and fit. And you couldn’t picture Gladio wearing a white, collared button-down with suspenders. The gloomy weather called for something warmer, despite the long sleeves. You still wish you had brought your company slicker.

Your suspicions were confirmed with the torrential downpour of dread at the sight of Ignis on the curb. Now, you _really_ didn’t care if it rained—maybe all over him. The royal adviser being soaked with water wouldn’t be anything new to you.

His eyes met yours, the plastic windshield the only thing between you, him, and the barrage of unkind words you knew he was about to spew at you. Especially with that glare, which was the very first greeting you received from him.

It seemed to be painful for him to ask the obvious, but did so anyway, “Would I be correct to infer that you’re the one I’m waiting for?”

Rather than take his words out of context and shove them down the gutter as you’d be so inclined to do with any of your other coworkers or Nyx, you matched his dour expression and answered his question with a question, even if it did seem petty, “Are you looking to get down to the field?”

He nodded. “I am.”

That didn’t make much sense to you. Brows pushing together, you replied, “I was under the impression that I was taking Gladio.”

Ignis arched his back, almost haughtily, and adjusted his glasses as he stared down at you from his place on the curb. “Yes, well, Gladio’s running a tad behind, so I’ll be going in his stead.”

Even as the words left his mouth, you wondered if he thought about what exactly it was he was asking from you. You fought the urge to be snarky—asking him if he didn’t want to just wait for another custodian to drive by. Or if he felt safe in the presence of a heathen who helped end his office. You did neither of these things, and found yourself nodding as he stepped off of the curb and joined you in the utility vehicle.

You had only shifted the vehicle into reverse when Ignis stopped you with a sharp, “Wait!” and a show of his gloved hand. The shout gave you pause, and you feared the worst, as though you were about to run over a small puppy or child. Instead, your eyes watched as he sought the side of the passenger seat, hands fumbling around the hard foam.

“Looking for something?” you asked.

“A seat belt,” he replied, eyes peering in between the emergency brake and then to the other side of the seat. You’d forgotten that the utility vehicles came equipped with seat belts, and, only after he realized the vacant space of where one should’ve existed, did you remember that it probably would’ve been a good thing to buckle up. He voiced your realization, “Really, you should be wearing one, what with the missing doors and unsafe driving that is to be expected.”

You couldn’t stop the weighted frown from overtaking your face. “Expected unsafe driving, huh?” you echoed. Never, in the three years of your custodial occupation, had you so much as _crashed_ the utility vehicle. And it wasn’t like you had actually hit Nyx during the Moogle and Chocobo Festival, so that didn’t count.

“Yes,” he replied, still clearly distracted. Eventually, he found his prize, tucked deep under the seat on the side of the missing door. You had never seen your coworkers wear a seat belt, either, so it didn’t come as a surprise that the thing would be pushed so far behind the seat. He wrapped it over his shoulder and chest, then clicked it into place. You watched him with extreme displeasure. “I’ve seen the way you custodians drive. It’s rather unsafe.”

 _You custodians._ Rude.

You tightened your grip on the steering wheel until your fingers felt numb and your knuckles white. It was your turn to count to ten, the way you’d seen Quinzi do it a million times before.

Reminding yourself not to retort or indulge in his insults, you asked, “Am I taking you straight down to the field?”

“If you’d be so kind.”

You knew how kind you wanted to be to him. In a perfect world, where jobs didn’t matter and there was no fear of being beheaded for being rude to the royal adviser, you’d take him on a joyride he’d never forget. Instead, you decided to be a Granny Driver and go extra, _extra_ slow for your enjoyment. That way, he couldn’t complain about your “unsafe driving.”

After two minutes of overly cautious driving, you hadn’t even made it back to the security access gate. You could see Ignis shooting glances at you from behind his spectacles, and you could only guess as to the mental names he was calling you in his head. Even one of the Citadel cars that had been tailing you eventually got impatient and whipped around you, disappearing down the road and around the corner that you were still so far from reaching.

“Is this really necessary?” Ignis asked after the car disappeared, the huff in his voice quite apparent. It almost sent you into hysterical laughter. “I’m meant to meet the marshal down at the field in five minutes.”

Taking the most professional tone you could muster without cracking into laughter, you said, eyes focused on the road, “I’m afraid so. It’s a department regulation that whenever we’re transporting important personnel, we must take their safety into the utmost consideration and, under no circumstances, exceed the designated speed limit.”

He made sharp hand gestures at the steering wheel. “I hardly believe that this vehicle can exceed thirty miles per hour, much less the designated speed limit. If I had to gauge our current speed, it would be no more than five. Now then, _kindly_ accelerate to a more appropriate driving speed.”

You barely pressed your foot further, advancing two, maybe three miles, higher. He leaned back in the seat, hand clenching into a fist. You tried not to glance sideways at him, feeling the radiating anger stewing from off of him.

“Unbelievable,” he mumbled and looked away.

Your mouth threatened to quiver with unwanted laughter, and instead focused on the first few raindrops splashing against the windshield, the sound of soft plops muted by the engine, despite the fact that, for once, you weren’t revving or speeding.

“Can we call for someone else to come up here?” he asked after a moment. You had only just turned the corner, the security access point a beacon of destination still some feet ahead yet. “I don’t believe you grasp the urgency of my presence being down at the field in…” he glanced at his wristwatch, “…three minutes.”

You shook your head, and accelerated only a little more to wane his aggravation, without completely erasing it. You were enjoying this, being in control—in power—and there being less that he could do about it. “If you need to be at the field in three minutes, it’ll take about that long for someone to come up here to get you. Best to just stick with me.”

“I daresay that I could _walk_ to the field faster than the speed you’re driving.”

“That’s true…” you drew the word out for as long as possible and turned your head to the open driver’s side as several drops pelted your bare arm. “Except that it’s raining now. Wouldn’t want to get wet, would you?”

At his silence, you felt pleased with yourself. The security guards raised the bar before you even arrived, prompting you to accelerate again. This time, you retained the speed.

After you left the main gate behind, Ignis muttered, “Don’t believe for one moment that I don’t know that you’re simply doing this to irk me.”

“I’m just taking your advice to heart,” you retorted, tapping your thumb against the steering wheel. “Safety first, Adviser.”

He said nothing more, most likely because you had picked up a speed suitable for his liking, and continued down the road. The drizzle became a downpour, and you dreaded having to work out in the field without a jacket or something warmer. You definitely shouldn’t have worn cargo shorts and your short-sleeved uniform today. Today was going to suck. Fortunately for you, there were little to no cars on the road leading down toward the Community Center, although, there was absolutely zero chance that you’d have Ignis down at the field to meet the marshal in three minutes, especially when it took about ten to get from the Citadel back to the Community Center.

You squinted and leaned over the steering wheel to see out of the rain-slicked windshield, and slowed your speed for the measure of safety, which you figured would be lost on Ignis.

However, his tone evened as he spoke, “Is this vehicle not equipped with windshield wipers?”

You felt tempted to question his power of observation by gesturing to the windshield with a missing wiper placement, but simply said, “No.” In fact, you didn’t think there had ever been any installed in the first place.

“I see.”

Your eyes flitted to the side of the road, where a uniformed Glaive jogged down the hill leading to the Community Center. He was a tall sort, definitely male, and pulled on the edges of the hood drawn over his head, which clung to its frame. So did the rest of his garb. You slowed the vehicle as you neared him, and glanced out of the empty space of the door, the hair on your arm rising as you realized how wet it had become from the rain.

Even from under the hood, you could make out Nyx’s worn face, his mouth agape from overworking, or the weather, or something of the like, you figured. Water dripped from the edge of his nose and small scruff that he liked to call a “beard.” You pulled the emergency brake and put the utility vehicle into neutral.

“Need a ride?” you asked and jerked your thumb to the back.

He smiled when he recognized you. “Yes, please,” and he quickly pulled himself into the back. You strained to hear him say, “Drautos reassigned me to the field. Libertus should be down there, too.”

You opened your mouth to speak when Ignis cut you off, his body shifted so that he faced Nyx, his hand over the back of your headrest. “You may be in for quite a long ride,” the adviser warned, and you gawked. “It seems that our driver has no concept of time or priorities. As it stands…” he glanced at his wrist watch, “…I’m currently five minutes late with meeting with Marshal Cor Leonis.”

You didn’t need to see Nyx’s face to know his thoughts. However, you couldn’t stop the glare that passed over Ignis as you readjusted yourself in the driver’s seat. He missed, or ignored, your gaze entirely.

“Adviser Scientia,” Nyx spoke, his voice void of the humor it had just seconds ago. “My apologies, I didn’t see you there.” A pause, and you almost could feel his glare burning into the back of your head as he said, “I assure you, we’ll make sure not to delay any more time.”

Again, never mind the fact that you couldn’t have gotten the royal adviser to his precious meeting even if you had been plowing through the streets at the utility vehicle’s top speed. That wasn’t something you were even willing to voice. All of it seemed moot at this point.

Without delay, or further banter between the two men, you dropped the emergency brake and put the humming vehicle back into gear. If they wanted speed, you’d give them speed. 

\/\/\/

“That last leg of the trip was _highly_ unnecessary,” Ignis scolded you, one foot out of the utility vehicle and the other pushed up against the hard foam seat. His hand gripped the slackened seat belt, while the other held firmly on the back of the cab in place of the missing windshield. His chest rose and heaved in exasperation and, most likely, fear from a possible near-death experience. “In unsafe weather conditions such as these, the _last_ action that you should take is off-roading.”

You tried to hold in the snicker that most certainly wanted to explode from within you. Face red and looking only seconds away from having a heart attack, he continued to reprimand you and had for the last minute since you’d turned off the vehicle under the snack shack awning—the only place on the field with a dry, outside vantage point to the game.

In the few times you had been privileged with driving the utility vehicle to the Citadel and back from the Community Center, you’d discovered an off-road path that split from the road, away from the main gate, and descended into a steep, rocky hill that cut through the park on the east side of the convention center, and pulled back onto the road toward the playing field. It cut off at least three minutes of the trip, according to your count, going at top speed in the utility vehicle.

While Ignis continued to bitch to Nyx over your sad driving skills, you couldn’t help but become unglued at one point, and, when the mouth of the shortcut appeared, you needed only a split second to decide what was right. Unfortunately, that meant little time to warn Nyx of your plan, and the vehicle went airborne just as you sped off down the hill, hitting every pothole, boulder, and tree branch along the way. Ignis screamed in a pitch that had you rolling in laughter, and Nyx grabbed the back of your head rest and Ignis’ for dear life, demanding that you slow down.

“What do you think would’ve happened if you had lost control of the vehicle?” Ignis continued to berate you, finally tossing the seat belt aside. It rebounded off of the metal frame of the missing door with a high-pitched _clink._ “Did you even stop to _consider_ the possibility of us flipping, or the fact that you had a vulnerable passenger in the back, with no access to a seat belt?”

You stared at him, slowly coming down from your own adrenaline rush. The last thing you wanted to admit to him was that you had considered none of these possibilities, and that it was only by the grace of the gods that you made it out of that scenario alive. Still, if you stared at him long enough, maybe he’d just simply believe that you had meant to do it all along.

Nyx remained in the back of the vehicle, his back to you and very, _very_ quiet—which meant that you would be feeling his wrath pretty damn quickly.

The adviser eventually gave an exasperated sigh before completely exiting the vehicle. “You’re unbelievable,” he said and, before he left you for good, added, “Maybe I’ll have a word with your supervisor.”

The threat almost had you stopping him to apologize, but you froze and no words would come. All you could do was watch his retreating form into the open snack shack, and he did not reemerge again. So much for meeting with the marshal.

Only when the weight of the vehicle lifted did you break your gaze, and turned to look out of the open doorway. Nyx and all of hell stood above you, water dripping from the ends of his hood and coat. You wished that he’d at least put down the hood. It would make him less scary.

“I don’t even know what to say to you right now,” he snapped at you. “What part of _behave_ did you find unclear during our last several talks? The part where I said to ‘stay away from Scientia,’ or the part where I said to ‘keep quiet and ignore any insults,’ or—”

“I’m sorry,” you cut him off with a hiss, rolling the flats of your hands over the steering wheel. “I didn’t mean for that to happen. I was supposed to pick up Gladio and _he_ was there instead.” Then, you directed a pointed finger at the snack shack, meaning to gesture to the whole of Ignis that couldn’t be seen. “And _he_ kept insulting me, right when he got into the vehicle.”

“That’s no excuse,” he retorted. “All you did was piss him off by driving stupid, both before I got in and after. And what the hell is the deal with trying to get me killed by going off-roading, huh?”

You shrugged and sighed. “He wanted to get to the playing field faster, I got him there faster.”

“You’re intentionally missing the point.”

Your eyes narrowed. “No, I got it. But I’ve driven that road before. I was fine.”

He appeared skeptical. “Oh, you’ve driven it in the _rain,_ too?”

You pushed out your bottom lip and proceeded to bite into your cheek. “Well…no.”

Nyx opened his mouth to cut you off, but someone else had already done that for the both of you. The sound of your name had you both glancing at the field, where a slickered-up Quinzi waved you down, along with your other coworkers. They were trying to put out the fold-up tables and line the large trashcans around the field.

“I gotta go,” you mumbled, but felt eternally grateful that the conversation was over. You knew you’d have to catch the rest of it later, but, for now, you could stand out in the rain over the sounds of your boss giving you orders instead of your brother giving you hassle.

\/\/\/

Being the only custodian _not_ wearing a banana colored slicker, _and_ getting soaked to the bone sucked. Despite being spring, the rain fell in icy pellets against your skin, leaving welts and your clothes hung over your body like you were wearing a big throw rug. For a moment, talk went around about canceling the game altogether, but, as soon as you all unfolded the tables and placed the trashcans, the freezing rain faded into a soft drizzle, and then nothing at all. Only the wind and chill remained, and you shivered, your fingers burning from the cold as you placed the last trashcan at the end of one ramp on the home side bleachers. While your boss tied the trashcans to the chain link fence, your eyes wandered the field.

Chadwick talked it up with Libertus, who both stood under the awning of the snack shack, shoulders squared toward the field. Nyx patrolled the announcer’s booth, the length of both sides of bleachers, and then joined them. You figured that he was just looking to seek shelter from the rain. What you wouldn’t have given to have the same luxury. Directly across from you, Lambert and Ermin placed and tied off two trashcans to the fence with bungee cords. Reimund had been charged with transporting House Aristos to and from the field, and they filled the stands, dressed for the weather, most holding colorful umbrellas. Only the most dignified were allowed to spend the duration of the game from inside the announcer’s booth. Like the marshal. 

Although you’d never met or personally seen Cor Leonis, it wasn’t like you could ever feign ignorance of knowing that man’s face, especially since it appeared so often in the Insomnian Times. He peered out through the large glass windows of the announcer’s booth, surveying the field around him. It felt strange to see one of the highest ranking Crownsguard members at a soccer game, when you knew him to occupy the security post off of B District. Still, different sights made you smile. It showed that the royals and uppity-ups were all human, too. 

At one point, Reimund spent two trips chauffeuring two House Aristos together: one a young girl with short, brown hair, and the other an older woman with shorter brown hair, and dressed in black and white—what a tight squeeze in the vehicle that had to have been—and then returned with Gladio in the enclosed utility vehicle. Each at separate times, they climbed the home side bleacher stairs and took refuge inside of the announcer’s booth. Ancil used the Green Convertible to transport soccer equipment and flags, all of which were laid in the bed of the vehicle, a plastic tarp over them. The notion came off as laughable to you. Although no longer heavy rain, the cold air and drizzle would wet the equipment regardless. Then, Reimund came down with Crowe, and she waved at you as she joined Nyx and Libertus under the snack shack awning.

Quinzi called over his shoulder to you, his gaze fastened to the bungee cord in his hand.

“Yes?” you replied.

Without looking at you, he said, “Make sure the bathrooms behind the snack shack are unlocked and clean. Our team and the rival should be on their way shortly.”

Your eyes scanned the field, but every utility vehicle was in use. Even the one you drove down in had been commandeered by Lambert after all of the trashcans were set. Although he remained close to you and your boss, the last thing you wanted to do was ask him for a ride to the snack shack. Your working relationship with him was less than amicable, and had been strained over the years by various degrees of miscommunication. You tried patching things up with him, but gave up five months ago, when things just seemed to get worse with every attempt.

Trudging across the field, you tried not to show your discomfort, but couldn’t stop your arms from creeping up to your chest. Crossing them, you locked your bare hands under your pits and exhaled. You would not let your teeth chatter, you commanded yourself. You would keep moving to keep warm.

You _really_ wished you hadn’t forgotten your slicker.

\/\/\/

You took longer than necessary in the women’s bathroom because the heater was running and you felt warm and dry. Giving yourself a onceover in the mirror, you fixed your sopping hair and tried to wring the water from your uniform the best that you could. Your shins and knees were bright red from the cold, and the shoes that had finally dried out from the fiasco with Ignis’ office were once again soaked through to your socks. It was pretty silly to try to wipe your bare arms with paper towels, and it wasn’t like it helped, but you didn’t care.

Eventually, the time came when you knew that you would be sought after by your boss and coworkers. After all, the countdown to game time reflected only twenty minutes, according to your wrist watch, and the little tykes from the Insomnian Phantoms and Elymen (a small province to the south east of Insomnia, about a two hour drive) Arbas would be skittering down in hordes to the field any moment.

You found yourself still amazed at the uptightness of the game and all of the House Aristos coming to watch. The rest of the stands were filled in by people in the community, and it was a sight to see, rich and poor coming together for a soccer game. If everyone was going to get uptight over nine and ten year olds playing, what would a _real_ Insomnian tournament look like? You’d never known and wondered if you ever would.

Perhaps Quinzi had a point. Whatever was going on in the higher levels of the Citadel, it all came down to one thing: King Regis wanted to strengthen his community. So, peewee soccer it was.

Tossing the crumpled paper towels into the waste bin, you sighed, dreading the walk out into the cold and rain. Throwing the door open, you were welcomed by the icy blast of air. Shake it off, you told yourself, and prepared to walk into the men’s restroom directly next door.

A yelp, and then, “For the love of Shiva!” stopped you in front of the open door, and you peeked around it to see Ignis holding the bridge of his nose in obvious pain.

This just…wasn’t your day.

Emerald eyes opened from behind his spectacles, which sat askew until he straightened them with a single hand. From the look on his face, you wished you were standing anywhere but there right now.

His mouth fixed into a hard line. “Why am I _not_ surprised?” he asked after a moment.

Feeling the urge to right the wrongs you had committed over the course of the day, you let the restroom door swing shut and stepped closer to him, prompting him to immediately step back.

“Look, Adviser Scientia, I’m really sorry. About the trip down here and now the door and—”

“You _do_ realize that it comes with great difficulty to believe your apology when mishaps like these happen in copious amounts and in such a short span of time, yes?” His thumb and forefinger pinched the bridge and slid up and down his nose. He appeared to be holding in a groan or sigh, but had no trouble with adding, “I suppose I’m to expect one of your famous explosions into laughter at my expense. Please, if you are to do so, try to imitate it in at least _half_ of the gusto you gave while my office sank beneath a floor level’s worth of water.”

It was your turn to stifle groans, retorts, and any other kinds of action that required expulsed air, especially laced with hateful words. You hadn’t done a great job of diffusing the situation with him in the utility vehicle. Best not press your luck, now that he was angrier than ever.

You didn’t get the chance to make any thoughtful decisions, however. Standing in the open doorway of the men’s restroom was Gladio, donned in a black tank top, matching colored vest and cargo pants, and hat that read, “Phantoms.” From this position, he looked more like a coach than a prince’s Shield, but what really stuck with you was the look on his face as he stared you over.

Seeing your gaze shift, Ignis glanced over his shoulder before turning his body entirely toward his friend. Gladio, on the other hand, never broke eye contact with you.

“I _thought_ that was you out on the playing field,” he said, words filled with amusement. “Why didn’t you tell me at the party that you were a custodian? And, not only that…” his gaze shifted to Ignis’, “…that you were the one who flooded Iggy’s office? Damn, I’m impressed.”

You couldn’t stop yourself before you lost your cool. “It wasn’t _me,_ all right?” you snapped. “Even my department knows that, which is why _I’m_ working today and the guy who did it _isn’t._ ”

Gladio laughed, much louder than he should’ve. Ignis didn’t share in the delight.

With a sigh, the adviser said, “And it seems that you’re still unwilling to take responsibility for that which you’ve done, instead, shifting blame onto another who isn’t here to defend themselves.”

You had the perfect retort aimed on the tip of your tongue, and it started with, “Fuck,” and ended with, “off,” but the gods appeared to have mercy on you as they intervened on your behalf. From out of the men’s bathroom came Cor Leonis, dressed in the uniform you’d always see him in in the tabloids. You would’ve found the “Little Phantoms,” button pinned onto his Crownsguard uniform more than amusing, but you couldn’t even bring yourself to smile.

The tabloids never did any of the House Aristos justice, and Cor was no exception, always capturing him in terrible light with godsawful faces. Up close, you wouldn’t have pegged him as any older than a day over thirty-eight, although you knew him to be in his mid-forties. His ice blue eyes pierced Gladio, who found the will to stop laughing, and then to Ignis, who held the marshal’s face with a great resolve of his own. Then, Cor looked at you.

Although his eyes never left yours, his words were to the men around you, “Ignis. Gladio. Get ready. The prince will be riding down any minute.” Then he left you all, as quick as he’d emerged from the restroom.

Ignis appeared more than happy to get away from you, but Gladio bumped his shoulder against your own, and leaned down until his lips were close to your ear, “Don’t worry, I still like you, Flamey. See you after the game.” Then, he gripped your shoulder harder than you were expecting and squeezed.

Before you could react, he was gone, and, with him, the foul words you had wanted to pitch at Ignis.

\/\/\/

You didn’t see Noctis come down, but his personal black car was parked in the special, 4-spot parking lot reserved for the handicapped and privileged. You imagined he sat in the box with some of the Crownsguard, the marshal, and the rest of his retainers, but the drizzle came again, and you found yourself huddling for warmth outside of the snack shack doorway. Quinzi and your other coworkers were working security up at the top of the hill with some of the other Glaives. Ever considerate Quinzi recognized your waterlogged apparel and told you to hang out below, since you weren’t equipped for the weather.

You watched the sea of people continue to file into both the home and visitor side of the bleachers until they were squished like fish in a can. Most of what you could see were hundreds of multicolored umbrellas covering the faces of most patrons, and their brightly colored slickers that you wished you could have. Why couldn’t the snack shack be selling coats or umbrellas? You would’ve bought three right then and there.

Libertus joined you under the awning, which had become the safe haven for low ranking peasants, such as yourself. Crowe and Nyx had just left together when you showed up, and some of the staff from C District came and went, buying from the snack shack in the process.

Both teams marched onto the field, each to their own respective tables and popup tents, which you had to help Quinzi tie down with bungee cords before he left. The home team, dressed all in black, huddled under the canopy, a bright skull mascot decorated on the fabric. They looked rather cute in their jerseys and high socks, almost like little people acting like adults. Elymen were in bright red, a cookie-cutter shaped Abra on their canopy.

“So, what do you think about having to work a House Aristo game?” you asked Libertus through chattering teeth. You tried not to let your eyes linger on his Glaive uniform, which was very dry and looked equally as warm. “This can’t all be for one kid on the soccer team.”

Libertus chuckled and tightened the hold on his crossed arms. Perhaps he was cold, too. “Funny you should say that, Danny.”

You shot him a halfhearted glare, but didn’t correct him. Only for today, you’d let him call you, “Danny.”

“What’s so funny about it?” you asked when he took too long to continue.

“How much has Nyx told you ‘bout what’s going on upstairs?”

By “upstairs,” you assumed he meant the higher floors of the Citadel. If that were the case, then you knew virtually nothing. Yes, there was the occasional eavesdropping you’d find yourself in while dumping trash or vacuuming, but it had only ever been in the Glaives’ section of the Citadel. Nyx never told you what was going on at work. He always deflected the question when asked.

Shrugging, you replied, “Nothing, really. I mean, I know that there’s been some tension with Niflheim forces, but that’s always been a thing—nothing new.” You gave yourself pause as you recalled something that Nyx _had_ said, only a few nights ago, when you spent the night at his place after the party. “I guess that it was a pretty big deal flooding the royal adviser’s office. Nyx said he was in some pretty hot water after that.” You hoped that Libertus would take notice of your water pun, but it appeared lost on him.

He leaned against the building and you both watched as the referees roamed the field, shouting things to the coaches, who, in turn, spoke to the kids. That’s when you realized that Gladio was standing underneath the Phantoms’ canopy, bent at the knee as he spoke to one boy in particular.

Libertus gestured to them with his head. “You see the prince’s Shield over there?” At your affirmation, he said, “The kid he’s talkin’ to is the Amicitia’s own retainer’s grandson. They’re all a big family unit, those ones. But that kid’s been tryin’ to get on the soccer team for a while now, and King Regis is promotin’ encouragement by hosting these big tournaments and games on the big field that everyone can attend.”

You still couldn’t wrap your head around it. What was the big deal about sports and who played in them? So what if it was a retainer’s grandson? Sports were sports. Even though there was an official Insomnian home team, this was a team from the elementary school, and they had a perfectly capable field to play on there.

“It’s all a red herring,” Libertus continued. “I know it wasn’t you who sunk Scientia’s office, but the things he had in there…”

“Yeah, I know,” you said, perhaps a bit too hastily. “Negotiations, treaties, meeting reports, crap like that.”

The Glaive turned his full attention to you. “It’s all about Niflheim. Every last bit of it.”

There it was again, throwing out the Niflheim card. Maybe it was because you had no idea what it was like to lose your home like Nyx and the others did. But things were safe now, as long as King Regis sat on the throne. After all, that’s what you had always been told.

“The king wants to band together our regions, and if we gotta start small to show that we’re fighting for our homes out there…” A smile cracked at Libertus’ face. “For hearth and home.”

Your eyes went back to the starting match, and Gladio gave the boy he had been talking to a pat on the back before shouting, “Go get ‘em!” You still didn’t quite understand what Libertus was talking about, or what it had to do with holding an overrated peewee soccer match, but you knew that whenever he and Nyx recited, “For hearth and home,” it meant something more important than what you could involve yourself in, even though you tried. Perhaps, _that_ was the reason Nyx was always pushing you to visit home.

\/\/\/

Insomnia Phantoms won 2-1 by the time the buzzer sounded for the last time, and you and the other custodians waited for the patrons to file out of the stands and back up the hill toward the Community Center entrance or shuttle stop. Some of your coworkers were kind in giving the old or injured rides in the utility vehicles up to the top, but the majority of you waited in front of the gate until Quinzi deemed it appropriate to begin teardown. He directed you to the hill, where Lambert sat in the open 4x6 you had driven with Nyx and Ignis earlier.

“Go with him and start pulling trashcans and liners from along the street and down along the field,” he told you while he and Chadwick disassembled the popups and Reimund and Ermin worked on the folding tables. You saw Ancil at the very top of the hill in the enclosed utility vehicle, chauffeuring an elderly man up to the shuttle stop.

You walked the circumference of the chained fence, still shivering. For the moment, the rain paused, but the wind and cold were still ever present. From out of the corner of your eye, you watched Noctis, the woman with the short, brown hair dressed in black and white, and Cor get into the black car and reverse. The sea of people parted for them as the car slowly passed. Lambert pulled over, halfway up the hill, and waited.

You quickened your pace, around the home bleachers where Nyx, Crowe, and Libertus worked inside of the announcer’s booth. You hadn’t seen Ignis leave, and Gladio had gone to join them some time ago. Shooting a glance at the scoreboard, you figured that they were in the process of disconnecting the electronic equipment from inside.

Lambert’s eyes narrowed as he saw you approach, and quickly looked away. It made you feel uneasy, walking up to someone you knew hated you as much as he did, but you were there to carry out a task at Quinzi’s request. To hell what Lambert thought of you.

“Quinzi wants us to pull trashcans and liners from the street and around the outer part of the field.” You crossed in front of the utility vehicle and prepared to step into the passenger’s side.

Tone clipped, he said, “Yeah. Okay,” and dropped the emergency brake.

As you moved to sit, your eyes caught the sight of Nyx, and the others emerging from the other door of the announcer’s booth. Your hand slipped from the missing doorframe as Lambert jerked the gear into reverse, propelling you forward by the gift of inertia.

The last thing you felt was your head against the windshield.

\/\/\/

The ring of voices swirled around your head until you felt like you couldn’t take the thundering of Quinzi’s voice any longer. You tried to snap your eyes open but a searing pain kept them closed as you whined against the aching.

“She’s coming to, she’s coming to,” your boss hissed into the air around you.

Even after opening your eyes, your blurry vision wouldn’t focus until long after you recognized the voices of Quinzi, Nyx, and Libertus, all three who hovered over your face with expressions of worried mamas.

“Give her some breathing room,” Nyx ordered and waved Libertus back before moving away himself, although he remained on his knees, close by.

“How are you feeling?” Quinzi asked, softly. “Can you remember what happened?”

Your head hurt too badly to try and recall. The ground beneath you felt hard and wet, and when you could see above your boss’ head, you recognized the gray, cloudy sky. The rain even had the audacity to produce a drop that fell straight into your left eye.

Groaning, you let your head lull to the side until your cheek pressed against wet concrete and loose gravel. “Feels like I got hit by a bus,” you mumbled, your breath scattering the dirt under your mouth and chin.

From above, Nyx laughed, something genuine—like relief.

“Might as well have been,” he said, leaning forward to pluck a strand of hair from your mouth. He tucked it behind your ear and said, “You went through the windshield.”

“Luckily, all you sustained was a bump on the head and a minor gash,” Quinzi said. You barely had enough strength to move your head back to meet his eyes, but he nodded heavenward, where an older gentleman with thinning hair looked down at you with softened eyes. “The Citadel doctor remained behind in the stands. Good thing, too.”

You could barely recall what happened. One moment, you were getting into the passenger seat next to Lambert. The next, you realized that he jerked the vehicle too quickly, without giving you any notice. Damn, did your head hurt.

“It doesn’t appear to be a concussion,” the doctor said, more to Quinzi than you. “But it’s probably for the best that she go home and get some rest. Drink lots of water, too. If there are any abnormalities in the changes that occur, get her to the hospital immediately.”

“Yes, of course,” Quinzi agreed and returned his gaze to you. “We’ll get you up to the shuttle and someone can take you home.”

“I’ve got that covered,” Nyx interjected and moved closer to you. “Leave her recovery to me.”

You caught the flash of surprise from your boss, but it didn’t come off as strange to you. You hadn’t exactly been open to very many outside of your little clique with Crowe and Libertus about your friendship with the Glaives, especially after the rumors emerged a couple of years back. Generally, the only ones who knew were the Glaives themselves. Somehow, though, you were sure that your boss wasn’t beyond the knowledge of those rumors. Although he’d never seen you and Nyx hanging out, he’d questioned you a few years ago about some things he’d heard about the two of you.

“Are you sure about that?” Quinzi asked, but Nyx had already gathered you into his arms and picked you up. “We can get her a ride up there and one of us can get her home.”

For the first time, you realized that a crowd of people surrounded you, mostly patrons, but caught the eyes of Crowe and Luche, who hid among the faces in the crowd, your coworkers, and Gladio, who met your stare with a smile attached. He offered you a thumbs up, which you were too weak to return, but the feeling of dread hit you like a hammer at the sight of Ignis, who gave you his gaze with a face that you couldn’t read.

Great. Now he had witnessed you as a fallen woman.

Next to the utility vehicle, now a front windshield short to match its missing back windshield—the windshield in pieces at the base of the front tires, you noticed—stood Lambert. Arms crossed over his chest with a scowl to match his demeanor, he avoided your gaze, but you kept yours hard on him as Nyx carried you.

“Don’t worry,” he said from over his shoulder, adjusting your weight to his as he moved again. “I got this under control.”

“I’ll call you later, Hero,” Libertus said from in the distance, but you couldn’t see where. You noted the shake in his voice. “Take good care of her.”

Your eyes fluttered and head lulled back and forth in his arms. Had you really gone through the windshield? You supposed so. It sure felt like it.

When you were out of earshot of everyone else, Nyx said, “Just couldn’t stay out of trouble today, could you, Danny?”

Humor and sarcasm escaped you, especially with the pain you were feeling. You let your arm fall like dead weight, swinging with his movements. “It wasn’t my fault,” you whined, and immediately realized how much like a child you probably sounded like. “Stupid Ignis was mean, so I got mean back.”

You thought you heard him chuckle as he adjusted himself again, pushing your deadweight arm back over your chest. Sometimes, you forgot what he actually _was_ as a member of the Kingsglaive. Nyx was strong, had the endurance of a coeurl, and he was going to carry your ass up this hill, whether you liked it or not. “Yeah, we heard all about that, from your own mouth, no less.”

You flicked one eye open to stare up at him. You couldn’t see much aside from his prominent nose, chin, and lopsided smile.

“Whad’dya mean?” you asked, and tried to focus. Your articulation had gone all haywire, even though it sounded perfectly clear in your own head.

“We all watched you go through the windshield,” he said, angling his body slightly so that he could move between a lingering group. “You had me worried. I immediately warped to your side to check on you.” You let his confession go in silence. Unnecessarily warping in front of bystanders was something that Glaives were asked not to do by the king and the higher ups. It made the people feel uncomfortable. If he was willing to break a pretty big rule in order to get to you as quickly as possible, then the accident couldn’t have looked good from his end.

“S-Sorry,” you sputtered. “Lambert…he…”

“Yeah, we saw what he did.” Nyx’s tone quieted as he added, “He claims that it was an accident, but it sure didn’t look that way to me.”

You couldn’t grin, but you wanted to. “Maybe you’re just being biased because I told you that he doesn’t like me.”

From out of the corner of his eye, you saw him nod. “Maybe. But that wouldn’t have stopped me from beating the crap out of him if something worse had happened to you.”

Although you expected that response from your brother, it still warmed your heart to hear him voice it. For someone who never replied to your, “I-love-yous,” he showed his reciprocation in other ways.

“Don’t lose your job over me,” you mumbled, voice waning. You wished you had some aspirin, or painkillers. Anything to numb the headache.

“Would’ve been worth it.” He stopped to let the enclosed utility vehicle pass, Ancil behind the wheel. He gave you a long, concerned look as he drove by, but Nyx kept trudging up the hill. “Anyway, we all figured that you were okay when you started babbling.”

You felt your brows furrow together. “Babbling?”

“Yeah, you don’t remember?” From the way his voice changed pitch, you knew he was trying hard not to laugh. “You kept apologizing for breaking the utility vehicle. And then, as if that weren’t enough, you started talking about Scientia.” Your body froze as Nyx’s voice changed again to crudely imitate you, “‘Please don’t hate me, Adviser Scientia. It was an accident. Please don’t hate me.’ Over and over and over again. You said it so many times, I think you made him blush.”

You struggled in his arms and he stopped long enough to hold you until you stopped, which you didn’t. He used his shoulder and bicep to cradle your head as you glared up at him, your own cheeks flushed.

“You’re _serious?_ ” you hissed. “I said all of that?”

He grinned and you wished you were feeling well enough to sock him. “Every last word. Then, you went on to apologize for Granny Driving him all the way to the field, when you knew he had a meeting with the marshal, and for trying to kill us by going off-roading, and for hitting him in the face with the bathroom door, which I hadn’t known about.”

You could’ve died in his arms. You _wanted_ to. Nyx started walking again and you fell limp against his chest.

“I wanna go home,” you mumbled, feeling empty and stupid.

“Yeah, that ain’t happening,” he said. By the time you looked up again, you realized that you were both at the top of the hill. “We’re taking the shuttle to the bus stop, and, from there, you’re coming back to my place.”

Normally, under different circumstances, that could’ve been a lot of fun, playing video games, eating junk food, and inviting Crowe and Libertus to hang. But, today, you just wanted to crawl under your own covers and pretend that the rest of the world didn’t exist.

“No,” you told him.

“Tough. I’m not going to risk you dying over a concussion, Danny. You’re coming back to my place and we’ll properly dress that wound.”

The wound. You’d forgotten about it. “How bad is it?”

His eyes searched the premise, maybe for the shuttle. You wondered how long until the next one came.

“Bad enough,” he said. “About a three inch gash across your head. And a knot the size of a golf ball. The skin hadn’t torn badly enough for stitches, but the doctor gave you a butterfly closure.”

The last thing you wanted to see was the aftermath of your tragedy, but it didn’t appear that you were going to get a say in the matter. As your head dangled, you caught side of the shuttle stop sign, and Nyx took a seat on the bench, placing you in the seat next to him. Exhausted from the cold, the rain, the accident, and the events of the day, you fell against him, head rested against his shoulder. He said nothing, and you both waited for the shuttle together. You weren’t sure how long you had been unconscious during the accident, but there were still plenty of patrons from the soccer game hanging out around the vicinity. Maybe they had seen your accident, because they wouldn’t stop staring at you.

“Nyx,” you mumbled, the headache forcing you to close your eyes. “Thanks.” He didn’t reply, and you added, “You’re the best.”

Again, he said nothing. But he gave your hand a tight squeeze, and that was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope that the setting's becoming a little clearer as to where we are in relation of time period and how things stand at the present moment. I'll update again next week--Inktober calls. More misadventures to come in the next chapter, along with a more frustrated Iggy, although, I don't think he could get any more frustrated with Reader. Utility Vehicle Joyride for the win.


	3. I Swear, It Was on Fire When I Got Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iggy to the rescue.
> 
> Twice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was trying to get this chapter up DAAAAAYS ago, but I've been working mad hours and overtime, and the con I'm selling at is in just a little over two weeks >.< Sorry for the late replies to reviews, and thank you for all of them! I love reading what everyone has to say. Thank you for reading, even if you're ninja-reading from the shadows. It really means a lot :)
> 
> Again, super long chapter...and I believe that this is the longest chapter yet.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

**We Just Merely Get Swept Up**

**III.**

**I Swear, It Was on Fire When I Got Here**

Nyx took you home and mothered you until you thought you’d be sick. The wound on your head looked far worse than it actually was, at least, according to your standards. You doubted you had a concussion, but he would hear none of it. After all was said and done, and he’d fussed over your wound, you were left with an adhesive _pad,_ not band-aid, on your head. You saw the damage in the mirror during a trip to the bathroom, and stared at it in dismay.

He was worried you’d lost brain cells in the accident. You were worried about losing your dignity when you went back to work on Monday. 

You slept in his bed and he in the recliner, but he tossed and turned throughout the night, causing you to remain awake. If you had to guess, neither of you slept well or at all. There were bags under his eyes the next morning, but he roamed his apartment in high spirits, even making breakfast, which he never did. But a Nyx breakfast of sausage, eggs, and toast was a good breakfast indeed, since it rarely ever happened.

He left with you over an hour early before he had to be at work, just to make sure that you got home, and wouldn’t leave your trailer until you promised to have the bump checked, and to text him after the doctor’s visit. If you didn’t go, he would find out, because he was nosy like that, so you went and were prescribed some pain relievers to help with the swelling. Sunday had to have counted for the most texts you had ever received from him in the three years you’d known him, and even Crowe and Libertus started blowing up your phone after you left the clinic.

Your favorite messages came from Gladio, who sent you one in between your message to Crowe, letting her know that you were okay.

Gladio’s popped up, and you rolled your eyes.

“ _ **Didn’t know you were on such friendly terms with the Glaives. How’s your head?”**_

Ignoring the first part of the message, considering he was friends with the Firestarter Glaives, so he had no room to say anything, you replied, _**“Doctor says that I’ll live.”**_

Less than a minute later came his, _**“Good. You still owe me a flamenco set, Flamey.”**_ This was accented by several emojis of flames, an acoustic guitar that looked nothing like yours, a devil face, and then a winking face that came at the end. You could only see these because of the app you downloaded to compensate for having a crappy smart phone.

Without replying, you put your phone in your pocket and made your way home.

\/\/\/

Quinzi called you into Jaron’s custodial office on Monday morning. He explained that the three of you would discuss what happened at the meeting deliberating about your job, and what came next. You took the shuttle down to the Citadel, dreading walking into a place where you felt that you weren’t welcomed. The security guards at the front hardly batted an eye at you, but you also had been sure to come in uniform.

Quinzi and Jaron were both waiting by the time you entered, and Quinzi gestured to the chair directly in front of Jaron’s desk.

“How’s your head?” he asked with genuine concern and eyed the pad taped on your head like a half-assed headband.

You nodded, avoiding eye contact with Jaron. The last look he had ever given you involved a big, fat frown as you helped vacuum up the water in Ignis’ office. 

“Looks worse than it is,” you replied. Butterflies swarmed your stomach, and you had little patience for small talk. You desperately wanted to know the results of the meeting.

“Quinzi was just telling me about how you received that gash,” Jaron cut in, causing your gaze to meet his. His face looked far softer than it had last Tuesday. You were glad for that. “Seems another custodian didn’t give you the proper courtesy of asking if you were ready.”

“We’ll be having a custodian meeting on that,” Quinzi interjected, elbows propped on his knees as he leaned forward in his own chair. “One of the things that the supervisor and I discussed were utility vehicle protocols.”

Protocols or not, you were certain that Lambert had put you through the windshield on purpose. Was there a protocol for attempted murder? Rather than ask, you decided to nod again. Besides, this meeting was about your job, not Saturday’s misfortune.

Then, Quinzi’s eyes narrowed as he considered his nails and added, “We’ll also be discussing the usage of notes and their benefits. I’m still fit to be tied over that ‘out of order’ sign on the Jumbotron, but no note to indicate that it was broken. I received several angry e-mails from bigwig parents of some of those kids, _outraged_ that they weren’t able to see their little snickerdoodles playing up on the screen.”

That caused you to snicker, despite your best efforts to stay serious. 

Jaron locked his fingers together and adjusted himself in the chair. “Well, I’m certain you’re dying to know, but Harv admitted to having been the one who hit the pipe.”

A smile threatened your face, but you denied it. At the expense of Harv, you would be keeping your job. However, you didn’t want to appear overly gleeful about it.

“There’s still the matter of processing everything,” Quinzi explained, “and we don’t want to lose Harv as a custodian, as he cleans very well. But we haven’t been able to clear you yet.”

Any hope of the smile appearing now had been lost. “What?” you quizzed, wondering if you heard him correctly. “But, if you know that I wasn’t responsible, why am I still on unpaid suspension?”

“It’s the Citadel,” Jaron took over. “And because the matter involved a very important person, the board wants to be sure that everything is in its proper place before they green-light your return.”

“Besides,” Quinzi said, “now that there’s the fact of your injury, I’d rather you just rest for the next week before coming back to work anyway.”

A week. A _whole_ week without pay. Two days, you could get by with. A whole week would slash your paycheck severely. 

Quinzi must’ve seen the look on your face because he added, “We’ll give you some hours here and there to make up for it, Hon. As it is, you’re going to be working the Community Center a lot more now.”

You chewed on the inside of your lip, trying to process everything. “Why’s that?” you asked.

“Because of the event scheduling. You’ve worked some of them, like you said, so I’d like to keep you there without having to train any of my other guys. I trust you, and you’re reliable. As it is, I’m even having to switch up my run in C District to work the Community Center, too, thanks to our ever generous supervisor.”

You tilted your head. “Then, who’s going to cover you?”

As the name left your boss’ lips, you were certain you recognized a flash of regret. “Chadwick. He’s got seniority over everyone.”

“Really? Even over Reimund?”

Quinzi nodded. “Yes. Even over Reimund. But, only by a week, believe it or not. Reimund’s already let his displeasure be known, so I’ll try to make it fair and give him a couple days a week.”

“Before we let you go,” Jaron tapped his desk with the flat of his hand to gain your attention. “I just wanted to extend my sincerest apologies for not believing your story when you first tried to tell me. It’s just…Adviser Scientia is a very influential person here in the Citadel. Problems with him mean problems for us.”

You curled your upper lip and wondered if this was going to lead into the conversation of how you went joyriding with him in the utility vehicle on Saturday, or how you delayed his meeting with the marshal, or smacked him in the face with the bathroom door. But Jaron mentioned nothing of these things. Instead, he reached for your hand, which you gave him, and shook it.

“Now, go home and get some rest,” Quinzi kindly ordered, much to your surprise. 

Really? Nothing from Ignis about what a terrible custodian you were? How your unsafe driving caused a strand of gray hair to appear upon his precious head? Or how you had knocked ten years _minimum_ from his life after suffering through your _unsafe_ off-roading adventure in the rain?

But no, there was nothing. Quinzi told you that he’d see you next Monday, and Jaron was all smiles and waves when you left. After the door swung closed, you stared at the office marked, “custodian,” for many seconds, but no thoughts could be processed. You had no idea what just happened, but you weren’t going to dwell on it any longer as you walked the hall down to the elevator. Maybe Ignis had complained about you and your bosses were giving you the benefit of the doubt. Maybe they were tired of _Adviser Scientia’s_ whining and crying over every little thing out of place or not to his liking. Or maybe they were just—

The elevator doors opened, and, like curtains drawn on a stage, Ignis Scientia stood in the little box, a briefcase in one hand. His eyes fell on you, and you could almost see the form of a frown appear, but it disappeared.

Son. Of. Bitch.

“Good morning,” you forced yourself to say and stepped into the elevator with him.

One look at the highlighted pad made you realize that you were both going down to the first floor together. Turning so that you were at a safe distance, although side-by-side, you stared at the closing elevator doors and couldn’t wait for the ride to be over.

“How’s your head?” he asked, tone surprisingly void of his usual detestation for you.

You fingered the adhesive pad and pressed your lips together. “Looks worse than it is. The doctor says that it should start healing up quite nicely.”

“Good news, indeed,” but his clipped tone made you wonder if, perhaps, he was hoping for some bad news. It wouldn’t be beyond him, you knew.

It was enough of a driving force to allow you to look at him, although his eyes were already on you. You asked, “Did you tell my boss about what happened on Saturday?”

His face shifted slightly, as though that were the last thing he expected you to ask. Pushing his glasses back up his nose with a single finger, he broke the gaze and replied, “I came close to having a word with your superior, but, after your unfortunate accident, I thought better of it.”

His words softened you. Perhaps he had thought back on your conversation and realized that you weren’t responsible for the damage caused to his office after all—That it was all just one big misunderstanding after another.

“I believe that your being hurled through the windshield served as punishment enough. Perhaps you’ll ruminate on what I told you about unsafe driving and wearing seat belts.”

You whipped your head back at him, but his eyes were on his wristwatch, as though he were late for a meeting. Or counting the seconds until the elevator doors opened so that he could get away from you.

“Wow…” you drew the word out, long and slow. “And here I was just beginning to think that you were a nice guy.”

He dropped his arm and redirected his attention back to you. “Niceties have little to do with the truth. Besides, I didn’t need to speak with your superior in regards to Saturday’s little ride along. You confessed to everything all on your own.”

Heat hit your cheeks as the realization that everything Nyx had told you was the truth. Even if you couldn’t remember it, you had strung apology after apology while being sprawled out on the ground in front of the utility vehicle.

You diverted your gaze to the electronic floor reader above the doors. One more floor and you were home free.

“Well,” you began, feeling lowly and pathetic under his gaze, “I would’ve thought that, since I humiliated myself at your expense, you would be willing to accept my apologies.”

From the look on his face, you thought wrong.

“Nothing can replace what you’ve destroyed,” he said, tone quite serious, and you wished the elevator would stop moving and just open the damn doors. “Nothing can bring back the lost documentations, negotiations, or reports that this kingdom was counting on. An apology is moot at the cost of—”

The elevator doors opened. Abscond!

“Sounds good,” you said loudly over him. “Have a nice day!” And you fled down the hallway, through the lobby, and out of the Citadel before he could have someone drag you back in by your ear to let him finish scolding you and making you feel like a “fired bonehead custodian.”

\/\/\/

Two days later, Gladio sent you a text in the middle of the movie you were watching from your living room couch, asking for you to join him and the guys at the Candace Spring Fruit Festival the next day. Although not quite mid-April, and not much would be ripe in season, the music, food, and people made up for all of that. When he said, “guys,” you hoped that Ignis wouldn’t be included in that picture. He didn’t seem like a food guy anyway.

After sending him an emoji of a big thumbs up—you were having fun with being able to send emoticons yourself—you passed the invitation onto Nyx, who had been working double shifts the past couple of days. Apparently, some big things were happening outside the wall that called for his attention. Daemon hunting, you believe he said. He replied sometime later, agreeing to meet at your place the next morning.

His next text read, _**“I’ll text Libertus and Crowe and see if they want to join.”**_

You pondered the idea of the Glaives joining the Shield and the “guys,” whoever that entailed, and sent back, _**“Let me text Gladio and make sure it’s okay.”**_

His response came less than thirty seconds later, _**“Wait, the Shield’s coming?”**_

“ _ **Yeah, he’s the one who invited me.”**_

You held your phone in your hand for quite some time, anticipating the response that would, hopefully, explain his sudden reaction. When it came, you frowned.

“ _ **Sorry, in that case, I’ll pass this time.”**_

“ _ **Why? What’s wrong?”**_

“ _ **I just don’t feel comfortable with commingling with my employer’s son’s retainers.”**_

You adjusted yourself on your couch, hunched over your phone and you considered the next set of words that could, possibly, persuade him to go.

“ _ **This is a great way to get to know them better. They seem really cool. C’mon, it’ll be fun.”**_

“ _ **Somehow, I doubt that.”**_

“ _ **To which part?”**_

He didn’t respond after that, and you stared at your blank screen for another period of time. You could understand his reluctance to come, but _you’d_ be there, too, so what was the problem? It wasn’t like you were going to ditch him for Gladio. Hell, you barely even knew the guy.

When a good twenty minutes passed, you shot off another text, _**“Please?”**_

He finally indulged you, but not in the way you were hoping.

“ _ **Not this time. Go have fun without me.”**_

_**“Please?”** _

_**“I already said ‘no.’”** _

Rolling your lips together, you sent off a barrage of “Please” messages until his angry reply came your way.

“ _ **Danny, please don’t push me. Coming along would be a really bad idea. We can plan to go again in the next few weeks. It’s not like the farms are going to close anytime soon.”**_

“ _ **But that’s not the same as you coming tomorrow. I don’t get it, what’s the big deal?”**_

You didn’t have to wait long before he sent, _**“There’s plenty to be a big deal. No offense, but your department doesn’t have to physically get up close and personal with the Head of Houses, and changing their trash liners doesn’t count. Just drop it, okay? I’m asking nicely.”**_

You stared at the words, reading them over and over again in your head. It wasn’t like him to get so snippy with you over something as innocent as an invitation, even if it _was_ to hang out with some House Aristos…and most likely the prince, but Noctis was cool. You guessed that he was having a bad day at work, but that didn’t mean he had to take it out on you.

Maybe it was a little petty, but you couldn’t stop yourself from firing back, _**“Fine, have a nice day, jerk.”**_

He definitely didn’t respond back after that.

\/\/\/

You met Gladio in front of the Citadel, on the steps at seven the next morning. It was far too early for you, but that seemed to be an understatement for the individual the muscleman dragged under his arm. In the crook of his elbow was a messy bushel of black hair, and you recognized a grumpy Noctis, who appeared half asleep, even while walking. Well, Gladio seemed to be doing the walking for both of them.

“Morning, Flamey.” He grinned at you and nearly dropped Noctis onto the Citadel steps. The prince took the release well enough, falling backwards with a grunt and laying sprawled between four steps. How prince-like. “How’s your head?” he asked and gestured to the adhesive pad you’d replaced that morning.

“Still tender. The aspirin’s helping, though.”

“Good, glad to hear it.” His eyes moved from you, to the prince, and then back to you. “You ready to get this party train started?”

Nodding with a matching grin of your own, you whipped out your phone and held it up for him to see. “Let’s start off with a group photo, all right?”

He placed his hands on his hips and stared down at you from over his nose. The way he did it, however, sent chills up your spine. It was as though he was looking at you, but his mind was on something else entirely.

“Guess I forgot to mention that we’ve already got a photographer of the group.” He gestured with his head back toward the Citadel. “He’ll be out any second.”

Your eyes slowly trailed up the steps, past the sprawled Noctis, and up to the majestic, large doors. You prayed to the Astrals above Ignis wasn’t a photographer above all else. You didn’t think you could handle it. So when Prompto threw open the doors, shouting at Gladio for leaving him behind, you released the breath you’d been holding in your chest, and then patted the place in between your breasts. Your heart thumped wildly there, but slowed as you mentally calmed yourself.

Prompto was the photographer. Somehow, you should’ve seen it coming. He had taken several pictures of you, and thought he had mentioned it during Gladio’s party, but couldn’t remember. That whole night, save Ignis’ icy words, was a blur. The man, himself, on the other hand, was stuck in a meeting all day and couldn’t attend the trip to the farms. You wanted to imagine him sitting in his meeting chair around the big table, listening to some uppity pay everyone some lip service about changes to Citadel policies, raises, and whatever else House Aristos talked about, and Ignis wishing he was on the bus with his friends, ready to go pick Lucian strawberries, Star beets, River cherries, Eos iricots, Ember mangos, and Blue lychee. You would get to do all of these things.

You all boarded the bus that took you to the central transit center and, from there, switched to the specialized bus that drove out to the Candace Hill farmlands, just outside of the wall. The second bus was less packed than the first, although, mostly families and elderly folk occupied the seats around you. During both bus rides, Gladio squeezed himself in next to you. It came as a wonder that he could push his massive frame into the seat at all; the space from one seat to the next was incredibly tiny, especially on the Candace Hill bus. He had to pull his knees in, and you asked if he was uncomfortable, but he just grinned.

Noctis slept almost the entire trip, head tilted back with his mouth ajar. Gladio snickered as he dropped splashes from his water bottle into the prince’s mouth, causing the other to sputter each time. At Prompto’s annoyance, the muscleman stopped, since, every time Noctis jolted awake, he’d smack Prompto in the chest or face out of surprise. In between these violent bouts, you spent your time with your head aimed over the back of the seat rest, chatting with the short blonde about a variety of things.

It turned out that you and he had more in common than you gave him credit for, most likely because you thought that any friend of the prince’s or the retainers would have to have a similar uppity attitude. But Prompto was born of common birth, and had the very fortuitous experience of meeting Noctis through school. He also dressed far different than any of the other friends—more casual and you chuckled as you pointed to the tags and buttons on his jacket, your favorite by far reading, “It’s a beautiful day, now watch some bastard fuck it up.”

He shrugged, a little sheepish at having it pointed out to him, but quickly bounced back as he said, “I can’t help it. I love memes and motifs.”

“Me, too,” you agreed. “I want to buy a button maker and sell meme buttons at craft fairs.”

If that was the case, he said, he would help you. Then he pulled a beautiful DSLR camera from the case held in place between his feet and turned it over in his hands as he explained his passionate hobby to you. His eyes lit up as he confessed his dream to one day to go professional, and planned to attend the university to get a degree.

It made you think about your college dreams when you had first come to Insomnia. Music had always been in the picture, but, before meeting Nyx, you couldn’t even make a proper sound on a harmonica, much less play guitar. A thoughtless dream, your father always said, even if he told you that because he was being honest and wanted you to pursue something that really interested you. You thought long and hard about it, for many years, even. But, nothing ever stuck with you. You tried journaling for a while, but traded it up for watercolor, which you told yourself you were improving at, but the evidence proved contrary. You were too poor and inexperienced to run as a politician, and you thought about the best moneymaking career you could go for, but lost interest when you found out that higher levels of math would be required to pursue almost all of them, and you hated math.

As Prompto went on about each lens and filter feature of his camera, you inattentively tuned him out to recall an argument you and Nyx had had nearly four months ago, when he asked what your plans for the future were.

“You can’t mean to be a custodian all your life, right?” he asked while you were playing video games at his place one night. “I mean, _sure_ it pays well, but what career path is it going to land you in?”

It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about that one a million times, especially since conversations like these with him were becoming more frequent. So, instead of giving more thought to your answer, you retorted if he intended to remain in the Kingsglaive for the rest of his life, which catalyzed the argument.

That night wasn’t one you liked to think about. Like, ever. You stormed out of his place at one in the morning and didn’t speak again for almost two weeks.

You forced your mind to reel back to the present conversation, where Prompto pushed the backside of the camera into your face, explaining the awesome viewfinder that this model had. To prove his point, he aimed the camera up toward Gladio, who ignored Prompto’s earlier plight by pouring water into the palm of his hand, and flicking it into Noctis’ open mouth. Prompto pressed the shutter button just as the prince jolted in his seat, sputtering water.

“Dammit,” he snarled and broke into coughs. He doubled over while Gladio laughed at him, and tried to regain his composure. “You’re so annoying.”

Prompto showed you the treasured image, depicting the moment of impact. You were impressed with the high definition of water droplets spraying as the prince gave an unflattering jump, one eye half open and the other shut. Gladio had pulled almost completely out of the shot, but there was still enough of him to see his amusement, and the start of the laughter that inevitably followed.

You both chuckled at the photo, and you realized how nice it was to be around people your own age for a change. Your Glaive friends, while much older, had seemed to mellow out in respective areas of maturity. Crowe would’ve found Prompto’s antics juvenile, but Libertus would’ve been on board. Even though you knew Nyx better than the other two, you actually weren’t sure which spectrum he’d fall in. It varied from day to day.

Your birthplace was in a little outpost forty minutes from Galdin Quay, known as Pryham, and the town only made up of a little less than five-hundred people. That meant that your public schooling and everything social came from what could be found in Galdin Quay. When you were young, there were children that were just about your age, and then did a jump skip to all of the late teen, early twenty partiers who spent their time on the beach, or to the rich folk hanging at the Mother of Pearl, taking cruises around the area, and snapping photos of Angelgard. Because of the commute and gigantic age difference, you didn’t find yourself with many long term friends.

The rest of the bus ride was spent in conversation with Prompto and, occasionally, Gladio, who had his sights on antagonizing Noctis until the prince gave up on sleeping.

“He knew we were doing this today and stayed up late playing King’s Knight anyway,” the Shield told you in a low voice. “Had to drag him out of bed and out into the hall.”

You snickered at the imagery of Gladio pulling Noctis by one leg out of his bed, across the floor, and down the hallway in some ridiculous set of pajamas. Maybe with chocobo or moogle designs on them or something.

After a while, Prompto pulled out a large brochure map of Candace Hill that looked more like a flimsy accordion and drew circles around all of the farms he wanted to check out. You chuckled as you watched him, drawing circles around at least thirty of the farms. Reminding him that it would be impossible to visit that many farms in one day, especially since there were over two-hundred, and, of that, only seventy offered anything for tourists like yourselves, you pointed to the legend at the very back of the brochure. His eyes glossed over the words your finger stopped at, showing which farms sold which fruits, attractions offered, and any tastings going on for the day.

“Gil?” He blinked, staring at one paragraph on the brochure. “What’s a…‘gil?’”

Gladio chuckled from next to you and you couldn’t help but smile in return. It had been a while since you needed a reason to exchange Insomnian currency into gil, but Candace Hill offered more of a reason than any.

“Don’t worry, li’l buddy,” Gladio said and easily reached over the back of the seat to pat Prompto’s head. The latter ducked out of the last two pats and groaned.

“Dude, you’re messing up my hair,” he whined and raked his fingers through his light locks.

Gladio shrugged. “Anyway, they have a stand for currency exchange. Don’t worry about it.”

Prompto’s eyes moved back to you, a tinge of pink on his cheeks. “This is my first time,” he confessed, folding the map back together. “Last year, everyone got to go but me.” He didn’t say why, but you asked him to emphasize on the “everyone” part. Grinning, he gestured to Gladio and Noctis. “Iggy was with them, too, but now it’s his turn to miss out this time.”

It surprised you that someone like Ignis would come to a fruit festival, when it seemed that he’d rather be spending his time doing other things. You didn’t question it further, however, and continued prattling on with Prompto about various topics.

\/\/\/

The bus dropped you off at the main ranch, called Rosewood Orchard, and was one of your favorite ranches available because of the craft fair and pond available that other ranches didn’t have. Occasionally, they’d offer chocobo rides. A large barn that sold baked goods and fruit bins occupied the center of the attraction area, the entire farmland to see behind it. The pond was open to fishing, which was where Noctis took off first, Gladio grumbling in tow. You and Prompto walked the craft fair, pointing to all of the booths with buttons for memes, just like in your earlier conversation.

You bought a handmade necklace with your favorite stone and, although it cost you a pretty penny, you had no regrets after Prompto helped clasp it behind your neck. You followed him into a stall set up with grids and tarps to display beautiful photographic pieces, and some acrylic and watercolor designs. You almost bought one that showed Angelgard and Galdin Quay in the background, but ever the good friend Prompto asked how you were going to fit it on the bus, especially since the width was almost taller than you.

After walking out of the barn, each armed with a bag of a dozen apple donuts or so, you met back with the other men, Noctis swinging a fishing pole like his life depended on it. Gladio, on the other hand, appeared bored.

“All the fish in here are small fry,” he said and gestured to the bucket by his feet. Three tiny fish lay gaping in the bucket. “His Royal Highness here demands that we find a way to put these guys on ice so that we can take them back, but I doubt the bus driver is going to be thrilled with that.”

You shrugged. “Toss ‘em back, then.”

Prompto shot you a look that conveyed his displeasure, and Gladio shrugged. Seizing the bucket, he hurled the fish into the air. They sailed like a fishy rainbow, and Noctis stared at his prize being tossed away as though someone had kicked his puppy.

Whirling on Gladio, fishing pole clenched in his hand, he snarled, “The hell was _that_ for?”

Again, the Shield shrugged and jerked a thumb at you. “Flamey’s got a point. Besides, you know we can’t bring dead fish on the bus.”

Not long after, Noctis ceased fishing and returned the borrowed pole to the renter’s shop. You offered him an apple donut as consolation, but he declined, mood obviously soured.

\/\/\/

Another bus took the four of you down to Fairview Range, another tourist attraction that featured a large warehouse for farmed ingredients, a bakery next to that, and a rather large fenced park with picnic tables, fruit bushes and trees, and a large stream hidden behind a wall of vines.

Prompto wanted to visit the warehouse, and you were inclined to join, while Noctis and Gladio toured the bakery. You handed the big guy thirty gil and told him to buy you and the guys whatever sounded good.

He stared at the money in his hand and replied, “I think you’ve got this backwards, here, Hotcakes. Isn’t it the gentleman who buys the lady something sweet?”

Woah boy, you had been promoted to “Hotcakes” again. What a record.

Sticking your tongue out at him, you deflected the oncoming flirt with, “What lady?” before turning on your heel to join Prompto, hoping he didn’t notice the large flush on your cheeks.

You had to admit, it had been so long since someone had openly flirted with you, that you’d forgotten how it felt. You weren’t used to it anymore.

In the warehouse, you made sure to buy things that wouldn’t spoil during your time at Candace Hill before heading home. Pies, Candace Apple Cider, and other goodies could be purchased at almost any farm, so long as you knew which stop intended to be your friends’ last. Prompto handed you a basket and he held his own in the crook of his elbow. You both circled large fruit bins, picking up Golden Eos iricots and Ember mangos and turning them over and over again in your hands. Prompto found the bin with the plutiaples and Scarlet apples and grinned at you from across the warehouse. By the time you walked out of there, you had spent over fifty gil on the iricots, mangos, apples, and a gorgeous pack of River cherries that radiated with a violet-blue color. You couldn’t wait to try them when you got back.

Gladio and Noctis were already across the dirt road in the fenced park. You walked the gentle descent of a grassy hill, staring at all of the Scarlet apple and Ember mango trees. Many of them were still green and unripe, but some were, and Noctis was helping himself to those, standing on his tip-toes in front of a blooming apple tree. Gladio sat at a picnic table, three big bags spread around the table. He watched Noctis with amusement until he noticed your presence.

You turned to find Prompto, who had been right behind you, but he was at the top of the hill, fruit bag at his feet and camera up at eye level. Feeling sheepish under the lens of the camera, you held your hand up in a still wave, and heard the click of the muted click of the shutter.

“This place is amazing,” he called into the air and checked his viewfinder. A big grin spread at his face and you were half tempted to ask him to see the picture.

“Having a good time?” Gladio’s words caused you to spin on your feet, and he beckoned you to the table by patting a spot next to him.

Although smiling, your lips were pressed tightly together. You batted your eyes at him as you took the spot across from him. You thought he’d comment, but he rolled off your spurn with an offer of what was in bag number one. Withdrawing a chocolate lump, he waved it at you.

“Is that a chocolate strawberry?” you asked, eyes zoning in on the sugary treat.

“Maybe,” and he dropped it into your waiting hands, chocolate stained on the tops of his fingers.

You pushed it between your lips, sucking and licking on the chocolate until the exposed tip of the fruit made you nibble away at it.

That jerk. It _was_ a strawberry.

Prompto wandered the circumference of the large park, and pushed himself between the vines until he popped out on the other side, the top of the vine wall rustling and bouncing. You and Gladio watched until the vine stopped moving, and Prompto declared how gorgeous the stream looked from under the shade canopy. Having his fill of free fruit, Noctis joined him on the other side, and the splashing of water accompanied by a large yelp made you think that one of the two jumped in.

When they returned, Noctis’ boots were wet, something he appeared to mind a great deal, and stomped the water out of them in the grass next to your table. According to Prompto, while Noctis disagreed, he had _accidentally_ bumped into the prince while turning to get a better view of the modest waterfall. What made the act suspicious, argued Noctis, was the fact that, instead of helping him out of the stream, Prompto immediately began snapping pictures.

Gladio shared the treats among you, and you noticed that he always gave you the bigger pieces—the largest chocolate strawberry, the fattest apple donut, and the iricot dumpling with the most glaze over it. He handed you each forks for that last one.

“We’re going to spoil our lunch,” you said, but that didn’t stop you from digging into your dumpling anyway. Candace Fruit was the best, and the iricot core had been baked so that it literally melted in your mouth.

Noctis didn’t look up as he lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “So? That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?” He crammed an apple donut into his mouth, sugar speckled over his lips and around his face.

“Yeah, Iggy’s not here to tell us to eat better or something like that,” Prompto chimed in, cutting a piece of dumpling off with his fork. “He definitely wouldn’t have let us buy this much junk food.”

“It’s not junk food if it’s all natural,” you pointed out, but something stuck with you, and you decided to tread a little further. “So, wait, he has say over what you eat?”

“Only Noct,” Prompto said with a jerk of his thumb. “To the rest of us, he’d just complain, and scold us, and make us feel bad until we stopped doing whatever it was that was ruffling his feathers.”

Your eyes found the prince’s, although he busied himself with another apple donut before reaching for a chocolate strawberry.

“Iggy acts as Noct’s personal chef,” Gladio explained. “He’s one of the best there is. You get fortunate to have something Iggy prepared, there’s no going back for your taste buds.”

You had to admit, being a gourmet chef was the _last_ thing you expected Adviser Scientia to be. He always seemed so stuffy and not the kind of person who would dirty himself with anything other than what lay in his office. But even then…

Prompto pointed to the spot on his head that was meant to mirror yours. “How’s your head? Gladio said you went through the windshield of your janitor mobile.”

You frowned at the name. Your frown only deepened when Noctis burst out laughing, spraying chewed bits of dumpling all across the table. Everyone groaned and backed away from him as he tried to compose himself and clean his mess.

“That happened right after I left,” the prince said, finished with his incorrigible laughter, but the ghost of a smile lingered on his face. “Iggy came storming in, going on and on about the quality of workers in your department.”

You felt the need to defend yourself. Whipping a stern finger at Prompto, you said, “First of all, we’re not _janitors._ Custodians work on broken things around their work environment as well as clean.” You used the term that Quinzi liked to use so often. “Think of us as _sanitary engineers._ ”

Gladio snorted, prompting the other guys to do the same.

“Were you _sanitarily engineering_ Iggy’s office when you busted that pipe and flooded it?” the muscleman asked through bouts of laughter. He had to avert his eyes from yours, probably with good reason, as he added, “I mean, Iggy’s a clean freak as it is, but I guess someone in your position could always find something wrong.”

“Dude!” Prompto slapped the flats of his hands against the table. “I couldn’t believe it when he told us that you were a janitor _and_ that you’d been the one to destroy his office. Like, _single-handedly._ That’s unreal. Did you see the size of his office? And not a single thing salvageable. Savage, for real.”

Gladio threw in his two cents, “He told me that it totally caught him off guard. He was working on the territory negotiation when he felt this drop on the back of his neck. Says he went back to writing when it happened again. And then, he looks up.” He mimed the claimed action, then used his hands to indicate a much _bigger_ action that you could only interpret as a ceiling tile smashing directly into the adviser’s face before the waterfall attack followed after. The Shield didn’t even try to stifle his roaring laughter. “Oh, gods, when he told me that, it was with that pissy Iggy face. I wish now that he had told me right after the water strike first happened.”

You wished you could’ve told Gladio that, _fortunately,_ you had had that pleasure, but you doubted you could ever erase the very first look you received from your mind. It would haunt you until you died. Shrinking into yourself, you focused on the fork that had used to be your instrument for delicious eating. Now, you wanted to use it as a destructive tool to stab the guys with.

Moreover, Gladio didn’t appear to be finished with his tale. “The best part was when he went on, getting all worked up about when Flamey here first went into the office and cackled like she was center stage on the comedy hour. He about lost it.”

It didn’t appear to _you_ that Iggy lost it any worse than these three clowns were doing right at that moment, drowning out each other over laughter.

Gladio pushed your plate closer to you. “Don’t worry, Flamey, he’ll be getting that office back later this week, good as new, but you probably shouldn’t go near it again.”

You growled, but said, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The conversation went on without you, and you found your frown only continuing to grow. This was the _last_ thing you wanted to discuss on a day that was meant to be supplied with fun.

“But, seriously,” Noctis, bless his heart, tried so _hard_ to sober himself, especially long enough to face you and said, “He called your department’s supervisor to make a formal complaint.”

Your heart dropped. So it was true then? Ignis really believed you to be the one who had flooded his office? No wonder you were on unpaid suspension. And if he had the gall to do that, what made you think that what Jaron and Quinzi said had been true and that you were scheduled to come back that following week? Especially after that shameless display of absconding from the elevator, you knew what kind of treatment you could look forward to next Monday: a final check and a demand of your keys.

“I was a little surprised myself,” Gladio continued, blissfully unaware of how pale you had probably grown by that point. “After all the whining he did over his office, the first thing he did when he got back to the Citadel was file a complaint against the guy who sent you through the windshield.” You froze in place. Uh…what? “Iggy and I had just come out of the announcer’s box when it happened. Guy totally did it on purpose.”

You no longer held the drive to correct them on who had actually been the one to destroy the office, or that, once again, you were a _custodian,_ not janitor. The point felt moot and you had plenty to mull over at that point, anyway. You weren’t even paying attention when Gladio handed you back all of the gil you gave him to buy the sweets. Your dumpling sat half-eaten before you, and you had little desire to finish it. Between the comedy conversation at your expense and the revelation that Ignis had, in fact, _not_ formally complained about you, but about your coworker instead, you found yourself utterly confused.

If the man had wanted your job, he could’ve taken it. What was his game? After all, you had caused him to be late to his meeting with the marshal, and then narrowly missed killing him on your spectacular joyride. That would’ve been enough to send anyone spiraling into a long list of complaints.

By the time you all packed up to head out to the next farm, you had fallen mute to the conversation around you, which eventually transitioned into King’s Knight, training at the Citadel, and the more current question of which farm you all wanted to visit next.

\/\/\/

Even though lunch had been beyond ruined by sweet treats and the fruits off the trees, you all stood in the food line at the Jolly Oak Grange. Prompto really wanted to come because of the corn maze, although it was clearly meant for kids when you saw that the stacked straw bales barely touched your shoulders. Nevertheless, he kept his gaze drawn on the crowd coming and going from the entrance through the exit, children, parents, and others alike. Noctis even dropped his fingers onto the blonde’s plate to whisk away several french fries, but not even that could shake him.

You munched on your stacked ham sandwich, content with your green salad. From what you understood, Noctis hated vegetables, so your salad was safe from his sticky fingers. Poor Prompto, on the other hand, was left with only a handful of fries by the time his gaze returned to his bean bowl with vegetables. Noctis tried the same with Gladio’s beef skewers, but was rewarded with a hand pounded into the tabletop. This caused an argument between both friends, and, as they squabbled over who was in the right, you agreed to accompany Prompto to the corn maze.

You each paid the two gil, prompting another comment from your friend over the usage of a gil and why the currency was different when you were only two hours away from the wall. He went on ahead of you, and you grinned. When he took a left at the fork, you took a right, determined to beat him to the exit. For a child’s maze, it proved rather difficult. You couldn’t see over the straw bales quite as well as you initially thought, realizing that the inside of the maze dipped in certain places, and there were times that the bales went completely over your head.

You bumped into Prompto again after your third wrong turn, and he accepted your challenge of finding the exit first. He took off in front of you, and went right and you left at the next fork. His way had been correct when you rounded the corner and slammed face first into the straw wall. Halfway down the left path you were forced to retrace to, Gladio vaulted over the wall, causing the flimsy thing to teeter and nearly fall. He earned an angry retort from the maze worker that neither of you could see and you snickered. Gladio ushered you forward toward the exit.

You ignored the fact that, somewhere down the line, his arm snaked over your shoulder. You didn’t shake it off, but couldn’t stop the acute awareness from setting in. When the path narrowed, he pulled you closer into him to keep from stumbling into the wall or loose straw poking out from in between parts of the bales. He never made eye contact with you, not that you were trying to look at him, anyway, but he wore a smile as wide as his shoulders.

He released you when you finally made it to the exit, Prompto already waiting impatiently next to Noctis, who opted not to go through. Deep down you couldn’t stop the aggravation from birthing and hanging over yourself like a terrible rain cloud. Or a typhoon. Yeah, that was it. Typhoon. You considered yourself a pretty competitive person, and the fact that Gladio’s presence made you lose to Prompto irked you. There had even been several moments he slowed your pace by lead of his guided arm on your shoulder like a horse to its tightened rein.

Noctis laughed upon seeing you both emerge from the exit, and announced that the corn maze worker wanted a word with Gladio, as well as two gil for going through, and the Shield shrugged off the proposal. Prompto wasted no time poking fun and snapping a picture of your sulky face while Gladio leaned himself over you, chin propped on your head and hands on your shoulders. He was really getting a kick out of this.

\/\/\/

When four o’clock rolled around, you all took the bus down to Chariot Meadows because that was the place to go for live, outdoor music, and warm walnut and toffee crunch bars. Although you were pretty stuffed and sick of sugar, you couldn’t stop from having _just one_ when Gladio offered.

The outdoor venue was much smaller than the Bazaar, although the Bazaar was the only outdoor venue you had to compare it to. However, it wasn’t your first rodeo at Chariot Meadows, and you mentally chastised yourself for the bad pun. The setting made it feel like a makeshift amphitheater, the picnic tables facing the stage on a slightly sloped hill, the actual stage at the bottom. The thing you liked about it the most was the fact that everything was made from wood, including the canopy, and all of the fish bulb lights strung from tree to tree like a spider web, burning a low, muted white when the sun went down.

You and Crowe lingered on past sundown last year, which had been your first time doing so. Although you had both stayed the night at Rise and Shine Gardens, daemons were what worried you. That was when she showed you the brochure and the little specks of blue glows scattered all across the valley. According to the Candace Hill pamphlet, the entirety of its seven hundred plus acres were riddled with meteorshards, making it the largest safe haven in Leide. It also helped with all of the supplied lights from Lestallum, and the brochure announced their excitement over getting its very first pylon later that summer. You doubted you and your friends would be hanging around until after nightfall, but it was a good thing to know, nonetheless.

What interested you the most were the performers for that evening. Apparently, you had come on square dance night. You missed that by a week last year. Securing a table before the outdoor seating filled up—which it did, and not long after your arrival—you offered to hold the spot while giving Prompto the gil to buy you a warm cider and a berry pie that you intended to take home, dissect the recipe, and replicate it yourself. He, unlike Gladio, had no problem taking your gil and spending it on what you wanted. It made you feel like one of the guys, instead of a pampered princess because you were the only girl in the group.

The first band came up to the stage while the others were inside the farm’s open barn that acted as both the shop and bakery. Around the back, one of the employees grilled anak steaks to sell. The smell had you salivating, even though you were far from hungry. Country music filled the air from the trio of musicians you believed to be called, “Steff Darrow,” comprised of two males, a fiddler, and banjo player, and a middle-aged woman on harmonica.

It wasn’t long until you found your foot tapping along to the beat, listening to each pluck of the stringed instruments and how the harmonica sounded slightly out of place, but you blamed that on the user herself. Although this kind of music wasn’t typically your jam, you enjoyed hearing what made each instrument tick. You couldn’t help it, especially in the last few years, and Nyx complained that you ruined music for him because you couldn’t sit through one song without breaking into commentary.

You promised you wouldn’t make that mistake today, not on a first outing with new friends.

Prompto didn’t return with the cider you wanted. Apparently, they had just run out. Instead, he brought you a cider of the alcoholic kind, and the others partook in the same beverage. You stared at it, wishing it was the hot cider with cinnamon sticks. You’d been longing for it all afternoon. Still, it wasn’t like you hadn’t been drinking with these guys before, and you could be a fun drinker in social settings. Libertus even told you so.

Gladio downed his before the rest of you, although it didn’t take long for Prompto to catch an obvious buzz. Even Noctis didn’t appear to be too far behind, and it was only the first drink. The cider warmed your insides and perked your ears up to the music. After the second round of ciders, you were ready for the square dancing part of the early evening to happen. Three bands in, and one of the employees from over the loudspeaker invited willing participants from within the crowd around you to come up and form four groups of eight—there were definitely enough people to make that happen, and enough room in front of the stage for it to be comfortable.

Jumping up from the table, Noctis asked, “Is she for real?” before you darted toward the stage, making you the first to arrive. Perhaps you looked a little _too_ eager to be engaging in square dancing, and maybe the guys would think you to be uncool, or look a little frumpy, or whatever—especially since no one immediately followed suit.

A sheepish blush crossed your face.

“Come on, now,” the employee said into the loudspeaker again, “Don’t make this lovely lady dance alone. Remember, four groups of eight.”

A vibrant murmur crossed the audience from one side to another, and you both felt relieved and annoyed when Gladio lifted himself from the table and walked past the other tables to join you on the makeshift dance floor.

“There we go,” cheered the employee on the loudspeaker. “A handsome gentleman for the lovely lady. All right, everyone, don’t be shy.”

You stared up at Gladio, who shrugged. The murmur evolved into chatter, and, soon enough, men and women trickled down to the stage around you, mostly older folk. You didn’t want to recognize the fact that you were the youngest couple standing there, save the handful of children standing next to their parents, ready to dance.

“This doesn’t seem like your style,” you said in a low voice to Gladio.

He shrugged again. “And what do you think my style is, Hotcakes?” From the stage light behind him, his profile glowed, and so did his teeth when he parted them to make way for a smile. “Truth is, I’ve done this dance loads of times. Iris really likes it.”

You quirked a brow. “Iris?” You wanted to ask if that was his girlfriend he temporarily forgot about while trying to make the moves on you.

But you were cut short by Prompto’s, “Say, why didn’t we invite Iris today, huh? She and Talcott would’ve had lots of fun today.”

You were suddenly distracted by the fact that Prompto had willingly decided to join your circle. Now all who left was Noctis, and he remained at the table, appearing to want to keep it that way. You waved at him and he waved back, but didn’t move.

The conversation shifted to Gladio and Prompto, but you still heard Gladio answer, “She and Dad were out doing stuff today. And Talcott’s got soccer practice.”

It still didn’t answer who these people were, but, from the way Gladio said, “Dad,” you had an idea that Iris had to be someone of the family—a sister or cousin perhaps.

Two women stopped in your group, both in their late sixties, but still looked able to swing, and dance, and dip a partner if they had to. One of them, a lady with dyed red hair that had turned orange, the silver roots peeking in at her scalp, took Prompto’s hand before asking if he would be her partner. Sweet boy, that Prompto. But you snickered anyway, earning his glare. Whatever. He deserved it for humiliating you with Gladio and Noctis about Ignis earlier.

Speaking of Noctis…

You waved the second woman, donned in a pink polka-dotted summer dress, closer to you and pointed to Noctis from up in the crowd. He had his chin perched in his hand, looking lazy at the table with his eyes staring off into the trees and lights above. As though an alarm went off in his head, he caught you pointing, your eyes and the older woman’s on him.

“He’s too shy to ask, but he’d really like a partner,” you said.

She wasted no time hiking herself up the hill, his eyes wide as they vacillated from her to you, the realization of the situation dawning on him. The laughs tumbled from your mouth before you could register them, and the woman approached the prince, hovering over him like a wanting grandmother before taking him by the arm. You couldn’t mistake the fierce shakes of his head as his mouth frantically moved—probably rejecting her offer to dance, but she was persistent. A few tugs later, and a light swat of her backhand, and Noctis was led with great despondence down to the dance floor in your circle.

“That was kind of mean, don’t you think?” Gladio asked, his lips brushing the tip of your ear. 

You took, what you hoped to be, a subtle step away from him and said, “He looked bored. Dancing is more fun when friends are involved.”

He grinned in return, and the rest of your circle filled with a man and his wife. Noctis spent the first few moments of his arrival glaring at you, but that was short-lived as his dance partner fussed over him, wiping sugar specks and crumbs from his jacket and shirt. She dubbed him the, “Nice, Young Man,” and you and your other two male friends couldn’t stop the cracks of laughter from spilling out from between your lips. 

The Jo Hill Gang were to be your square dancing musicians for the time being, and the fiddler led off before the second fiddler and banjo followed suit. From over the loudspeaker, the employee called out dance commands, ones you weren’t too drunk to follow, much to your delight. Noctis revealed his two left feet, and it made you wonder how a _prince_ of all people could fail at dancing, especially with something as simple as square dancing. He missed the first male “star-in” and then came in when only the females were supposed to, causing you and his partner to trip over each other.

Prompto proved to be a quick learner, and you could see the animation in his steps as he picked up the rhythm and understanding. Gladio, as he claimed, was no stranger to the square dance. He retained the bounce in his step, even two drinks in, and gracefully swung you high and low when asked to. Prompto’s partner stood a head taller than he, making the gesture equally as ridiculous, and Noctis apparently had no idea what “high and low” entailed, so his partner had to lead him throughout most of the dance.

You felt that Gladio was trying to impress you with his knowledge of dancing. Each time you had to come into him, he kept his grip firm, yet gentle, and led with confidence. Three dances in, and you were relieved to have him as a partner. Prompto’s face was flushed, but he offered to keep going, since his partner appeared to be an avid square dancer, claiming that she had won thirty consecutive competitions when she was younger. Somehow, you doubted that. Noctis, on the other hand, displayed his want to bow out, but his granny partner would have none of it.

“There’s nothing to be shy about,” she said and pinched his cheek. “I was shy, too, when I first started dancing, but you get used to it really quick.”

She was joined in affirmation by Prompto’s partner, and even the wife of the man who’d joined your circle late agreed. It opened into a discussion of dancing, shy people, and some uses that those dance moves _really_ worked for. At that point, Noctis appeared more than uncomfortable.

His eyes found yours and followed with a heavily weighted frown. You offered him the trolliest grin you could muster in return. In the fourth dance that followed, he tripped over a rock as you all held hands and circled to the left, stumbling into Prompto’s partner and nearly taking the entire circle down with him. Then, he became confused when all of the ladies were told by the loudspeaker employee to step outside of the circle and to the back, and he ended up dancing with Prompto, taking him “high and low,” while Prompto’s partner danced with Noctis’ for the duration of the dance.

You didn’t know which you enjoyed more, the act of square dancing, or the bumbling prince and the entertainment it provided, proving as a distraction for every time Gladio would hold onto you a little too long, or squeeze your hand when you all circled left and right.

Oh, man, you really hoped you were reading the signs wrong.

\/\/\/

Noctis forgave you on the bus ride home, which had you on the trip long before sundown, around six. He wasted no time accusing you of your tomfoolery, although, you were pretty sure it came from the abundance of alcohol that came in between the acts of square dancing. You maxed out at four ciders with Prompto, Noctis at three, and Gladio at five. Boy, could that guy drink, especially in the two hour span you spent square dancing at the farm.

Prompto swayed in his seat as he reviewed all of his pictures on the camera—which he refused to show you until you accepted his friend request on MyFace and accepted the invitation to the private group page he’d set up for his photos. Gladio, although seated next to you again, passed out snoring with his head tilted up toward the ceiling. If Noctis had been very slick, he would’ve taken this golden opportunity to retaliate against the big guy with flicking his face with water, but the prince spent his time on King’s Knight, playing solo.

You figured that Noctis was just scared of Gladio, and that had to be the reason he didn’t want to pour water down his Shield’s throat.

Your phone buzzed and you realized that you hadn’t bothered to check it all day. No new messages or calls, save the one that just came in.

You smirked as you read Nyx’s message, the first time hearing from him since your argument the day before.

_**“So, when are you making me a pie?”**_

You tried to stifle your laugh, so as to not wake Gladio, but it came out as a snort. You were happy to hear from him, although, you debated about writing him back right away. Best not to appear desperate, but, damn, did you hate fighting with him.

Biting the bullet, you replied, _**“I think it should be the other way around. You’re the one who didn’t want to come. By the way, it was a BLAST. You missed a great time.”**_

 _ **“I’m sure I did.”**_ You stared at his reply, wondering if his words were laced with amusement or annoyance. It was so hard to tell the inflection of a text, and inflection was important, especially coming out of an argument. You didn’t have to wait long before your phone pinged again with another message from him. _**“It’s fine, I forgive you. Just make sure it’s not an iricot pie.”**_

Staring down at the bag between your knees, you considered everything you’d bought that day, and how much of it you could pass off in a pie for Nyx. Iricots, apples, strawberries, cherries…No, you wanted to keep _all_ of the fruit. Forget Nyx. You squinted at the text, then retorted, _**“Forgive me for what? And it’s the rewards of MY hard-earned cash that you’re asking for.”**_

Maybe it was the alcohol influencing your words, and you reminded yourself to be nice for now, especially since he was making the effort to text first. Being antagonistic didn’t get very far with Nyx, and you knew that better than anyone.

Still, he always had a surprising side.

_**“I’ll accept turnovers, too. ;)”**_

You loved that aggravating bastard.

\/\/\/

You were long overdue for a custodial meeting.

In the two weeks that followed your return to the working team, you were reassigned to the Community Center, your shift overlapping with Quinzi’s. That meant you worked with him more and got to stay away from Lambert, whom you weren’t sure suffered from what repercussions of Ignis’ angry complaint. From what you heard, he had been brought in before Quinzi and some higher ups, but what happened after that, you weren’t sure. All you knew was that if Lambert hadn’t hated you before, he definitely did now. Your head was almost healed from the incident, although a small scar remained, and that bothered you. Not because you weren’t a fan of battle wounds, but the principle in which it had occurred.

You were the only one who completed the online training before Quinzi had to crack the whip. 

“This is extremely important training,” he announced to your coworkers. “How are you going to know to _not_ mix chemicals to create the ultimate disinfectant if you don’t do the training? By the way, if you did mix chemicals to create the ultimate disinfectant, you probably wouldn’t be around to do the training—so do it before you do that!”

In Quinzi’s absence, everything went to hell in C District. Chadwick, who took over Quinzi’s run, could be found in the Glaive break room most days, playing Caterpillar Solitaire on the public computer or hanging around the dining room during breakfast and lunch, accepting food donations. Like…many times. One person said that he’d come to the back of the kitchen six times during the span of lunch. Even better than that, he’d forgotten to dump the dirty water from the tank in the auto scrubber, and allowed it to incubate in the custodial closet under the warmth of a light he’d forgotten to turn off. The complaints came in early that next morning, saying that the entire dining hall smelled of sewage water, and every window had to be opened to ventilate the place. And it got _awfully_ cold at six thirty in the morning.

Reimund, whom was feeling unjustly ignored, demanded his share of the day shift duties, and formed somewhat of a rivalry with Chadwick. He thought that he could clean faster and with a more precise method, and, for some _ungodsly_ reason, decided it to be a grand idea to clean tables in the Mess Hall with a bucket mop instead of the designated table mops, and this particular bucket mop had been fortunate enough to become acquainted with projectile vomit from a Glaive who couldn’t hold his own during Warp-Strike training earlier that day.

Quinzi wasn’t just counting to ten every day to keep himself sane, he was also counting the days until he returned to C District and could fix all that his employees had destroyed. In the meantime, you were waiting for the other shoe to drop, and the explosion that would inevitably consume the majority of the dining hall and Glaive offices. You had it all figured out in your head, and the scene that would follow of Quinzi, Reimund, and Chadwick staring up at the flames, each in silence, until Chadwick said, “It was on fire when I got here.”

Work at the Community Center varied from what you knew in C District. You spent the majority of your time cleaning up after soccer practices, sprucing up the restrooms, snack shack, and announcer’s booth. The remainder of your shift found you inside the gymnasium, sweeping the floor after wrestling and sparring practice, and cleaning the restrooms and locker rooms in there.

Quinzi took care of the park, which you’d help him with during the first part of your shift. He charged you with emptying the trash cans inside of the animal and pest boxes, and mowing the lawns, while he ran the weed eater. Although you’d seen them before, it still amazed you that security cameras were set up on each of the light posts that lined the paved trails and in front of the bathrooms. You hated those bathrooms. There was little to no insulation inside, definitely no heating, and an inch tall gap at the bottom of each door leading inside, allowing leaves, dirt, and other crap to blow inside on windy days.

You and your boss passed the working time complaining and comparing stories about cleaning. Again, it made you realize that the Community Center was _definitely_ not like cleaning C District. Despite being located on the Citadel grounds, the kids who encroached upon the Community Center lands came from Insomnia High, primarily. There were other kids who just came to hang out on the premise. Many of these kids lacked discipline. 

While you had to clean a wall and three urinals covered in greasy pepperoni, Quinzi chased a middle schooler from the premise after dumping chocolate milk on the walkway and ducking into a bush to hide. You figured he must’ve been watching Quinzi clean it with a hose and broom because he jumped out of the bush just as Quinzi was about to leave in the utility vehicle. The kid stood there, another open carton of chocolate milk in hand, and turned to let it drain in slow, brown glugs onto the walkway again.

You wondered if that incident resulted in the retaliation to the park bathrooms. Later that night, the Chocolate Milk Child returned with a posse all dressed in King’s Knight and Li’l Malbuddy paraphernalia and tried to set the bathrooms on fire—this was all caught on camera, as you and your boss watched the footage—using paper towels from the dispensers as fodder for fuel. When that didn’t work, they busted out the dispensers, rolled the garbage cans out onto the lawn, decorated many of the trees in toilet paper, and then pulled one of the sinks out from the wall. 

“Powerful little hooligans,” Quinzi called them. Someone was definitely drinking their milk when they weren’t dumping it out on the ground. The damaged sink resulted in a busted pipe, which proceeded to flood both sides of the bathrooms. The water escaping from underneath the women’s restroom door gave you shuddering flashbacks, and you had to look away. Finally, the little heathens picked up one of the metal picnic tables from outside, and marched it into the men’s bathroom. It took a little bit of finesse, but they were smart enough to figure out how to turn it sideways and shimmy the thing on in. Then, after much destruction, they finally left.

Quinzi turned the footage over to the police to let them handle it and he installed padlocks onto the doors, on top of the door locks themselves, to keep the foul creatures from coming back. Now, the doors were to remain locked at all hours of the night. Meanwhile, you and he had to perform overtime duties in fixing all that had been destroyed, while the plumbers fixed the broken pipe.

Outside of the custodial life, you entertained yourself with your new friends, at Gladio’s request. Your name gradually transitioned from “Flamey,” which you were okay with, to “Hotcakes,” which you were less okay with, and occasionally, “Custy” for custodian. The latter you were particularly _not_ okay with. Why he couldn’t just call you by your given name, you felt like you’d never know.

Other than that, you found yourself spending more time with them in places such as the arcade, Gladio’s pad with Noctis and Prompto— _always_ with at least one of them—photographic nature excursions in the various city parks, and at the Bazaar, which was the one place you felt like you and Gladio had in common. Prompto bugged you until you accepted his friend request on MyFace, and immediately regretted it. Bombarded with tagged pictures of yourself, you stared at your phone screen of the picture taken at the park at Fairview Range. You hadn’t known it then, your back being to Gladio, but while you waved at Prompto, the Shield blew a kiss at you. _Why_ the hell would he put that picture up? It gave everyone the wrong impression and it wasn’t like you hadn’t had those before.

Then there was the one of you and Gladio coming out of the corn maze, his chin on your head as he held your shoulders. Then, there was one of the two of you square dancing together just as the Shield “high and lowed” you—Wha…When did he have the time to get _that_ one? In every photo of you and Gladio together, Gladio reacted on MyFace, and always with the same reaction.

“Winking face,” you mumbled before closing out the app and shoving the phone into your pocket. Now, everyone on that group page would think that you and the Shield were together. It brought back bad memories from when Nyx had been substituted in that position, except Nyx had found it funny. He never cared what others thought about him, not like you did.

You hadn’t talked to Nyx quite as much since the night you came over to bake a pie at his place, the day after your Candace Hill adventure. Now that you thought about it, that had been the last time you’d seen him, too. For reasons he wouldn’t explain, he never wanted to join you if you were with the prince and his retainers.

As to others who refused to join you, for as often as you’d seen them, Ignis was always absent. You chalked it up to two reasons: one, they never invited him if you were going to be there, and two, they invited him, but he refused if he knew you were coming, too. Either way, the feeling was mutual, and you knew you’d have a miserable time with him along.

\/\/\/

The last week of April found you in some scrambling situations. Because it was the turn of the season in the custodial department, Quinzi bounced you around from area to area in the Community Center, and other custodians to your shift in C District, or you would pick up a shift back in C District, but never B District. And, from the last thing you’d heard, Ignis was back in his old office, which had been completely ripped apart and made anew and shinier again. Good for him. For the most part, everything felt as though it had returned to normal. The Glaives and other employees stopped giving you long looks that could be interpreted in many ways, although some, like Luche, would probably never let it go. You, on the other hand, wondered if the embarrassment would last forever, and couldn’t suppress the urge to stay hidden as you cleaned. Sometimes, you wondered if it was just you, or if the lingering resentment was real.

So, when Quinzi called you on your way to work the Community Center to ask if you’d cover an hour’s worth of work in B District, naturally, you refused.

He remained rather silent on the phone for quite a while until you recognized the familiar Quinzi sigh, and he said, _“Look, I know that you’re worried about the retaliation that the Houses might have against you, particularly the Adviser, but I really need you to take the shift. It’s not even a big deal. The Crownsguard Training Room was used last night and Bosco didn’t clean it. Just sweep and run the auto scrubber over it before four o’clock, and then head here. I’ll even start cleaning part of your area to take the pressure off.”_

And the training room was where you found yourself now, sighing an irritable sigh for the nth time. You’d never been inside the training room before; it almost felt too sacred for someone of your lowly stature to be in. It required another code besides the grandmaster key card, and only a few rooms in the entire Citadel had security like that—such as King Regis’ room and the room containing the Crystal.

You had an hour to have everything cleaned before the next training session began. Bosco’s custodial closet was located in the hallway, to the immediate left of the training room doors. It was a scary place, Bosco’s closet. He had an unhealthy obsession with Titan, it seemed, by the many pictures depicting the Astral taped on his shelves and walls, and graffiti polluted his mop bucket with sayings like, “Call me Titan,” and, “The one to rule them all.” Around those sayings were stickers of imps, and goblins, an arrow drawn next to one and read, “The Goblin King.”

Stupid weird.

You swept the large training room in fifteen minutes, eyes falling over the designs of the beautiful archways, marble columns, and velvet, emerald benches lining each side of the room. Oak cabinets were pressed up against the walls in the back, and you didn’t dare peek inside the glass. Somehow, you felt that it wouldn’t be beyond King Regis’ power to know that you were snooping, even if the training room was one of the few places in the Citadel not to have security cameras directly inside.

You didn’t like how you felt like you were being watched by the suits of armor, but you figured that that fear came from all of the video games you played with Nyx, when the suits would all come to life and attack you. If that happened now, at least you knew how to wield a dust mop pretty well. A large blue and gold banner caught your eye on your rotation back down to the other end of the training room, and you stared at the design in the middle. Polearms and axes crossed each other on either side of the banner, the steel glittering in reflection from the hanging lights above.

You wondered what kind of training the Crownsguard did here. Was it like Nyx’s training in the Glaive? He never told you what kind of training his was, either. He’d always manage to deflect the question whenever you asked, but you could imagine to yourself what it was like, especially when he’d come hang out with you smelling like burnt ash or an electrical fire.

It took you an entire pass over the training room floor to realize that something was wrong with the auto scrubber.

You stopped the machine to stare at all of the white streaks lined back and forth on the shiny tiled floor, from one end of the training room to the other. It looked like a scratched up race track. Something like that could only be caused if the water dispenser on the machine wasn’t working, but you were certain you’d seen water marks on the floor. Although something of this magnitude had never happened to you before, you had a vague inclination of what the problem was.

Stupid Bosco failing to properly maintain his equipment.

At the bottom of the machine, right above the squeegee meant to suck up the water that was _supposed_ to be coming out of the dispenser, was the water line. Inside was a filter, and, if you remembered your training correctly, that filter could occasionally get clogged, especially with improper care. Like now.

You tried to unscrew the cap on the line, but it proved to be a difficult task. You gripped each side of the cap and twisted until your knuckles turned a light shade of pink. Without warning, the cap popped open and water sprayed in your face. You dropped the line, sputtering water from your mouth and wiped your face with your uniform. You struggled to screw the cap back into place, but you couldn’t get the teeth to line up correctly. Water sprayed through the smashed gap like a finger on a hose nozzle as you tried to tighten the cap, but you just couldn’t manage. Before you knew it, much of the water tank emptied onto the training room floor.

You stared at the pool of water that you and the machine stood in, and hated how it continued to creep across the floor in the same fashion as the House Aristos’ hallway after Ignis’ accident, and the park bathroom.

You were getting real sick and tired of water.

There was little choice. You hadto kneel in the water—good thing you were wearing shorts, but your poor shoes…—in order to push the line back into place and suck up all the water via the squeegee. You had only gotten to the ground, the line in your hand, when the training room door opened.

Gladio, Ignis, and two others all dressed in casual Crownsguard apparel stood there, meeting your eyes, and then the awkwardness set in. Ignis slowly closed his eyes and looked away, while the Crownsguard duo stared at each other in confusion. 

Gladio’s eyes moved from you, to the disaster, back to you, and then shook his head with a sigh. “Oh…Custy.”

\/\/\/

“You don’t have to do this,” you mumbled to the man above you as you adjusted yourself on your stomach and pushed the flat-head screwdriver into the crease of the next screw. In the process of trying to pull out the water filter, it pulled apart and the rubber ring fell into the floor drain of Bosco’s custodial closet.

Ignis shined the pocket flashlight over the hole as you finished unscrewing the grate, and set it off to the side.

“I’m well aware,” he replied, but didn’t leave.

You resisted the urge to say anything else. After all, it had been Ignis who made the first move, ordering Gladio to bring in the mop bucket and two mops from Bosco’s closet to soak up the water and wring it into the bucket. The Shield had most certainly been on board. After all, he made it quite vocal about keeping you out of trouble. You were fortunate that the _next_ training session Quinzi had mentioned involved Gladio, Ignis, and two new Crownsguard recruits. Ignis, on the other hand, held the door open for you as you guided the auto scrubber into the closet to finish draining the water line.

His helpfulness made you suspicious, especially after Gladio revealed how the adviser had gone so far as to file a complaint against Lambert on _your_ behalf. What his game was, you weren’t sure, but he continued to be full of surprises. You decided to keep the trump card of that knowledge to yourself for now.

Initially, you also believed him to be impressed with you mechanical know-how, explaining what you thought to be wrong with the machine and how cleaning the debris out of the water filter would restore the water flow. He made noises in the back of his throat that showed attention and digestion of everything you said. It all looked good for you until the rubber ring rolled into the drain. Of _course_ it had to roll into the drain. As you both watched it tumble inside, you were certain Ignis retracted his impressed opinion of you.

He stepped to the side, careful not to bump into the auto scrubber, and repositioned the light. The inside of the drain lit up, and the rubber ring sat on top of a pile of hair, dust, and gunk. Gross. The best part was that the pipe narrowed the further down it went, and there was no way your hand was going to fit down there.

“Do you see it?” he asked.

Inhaling, you brought yourself up to your knees. “Yeah…I can’t get it.”

He passed you the flashlight and peered into the open drain. You positioned the light so that he could see.

He nodded. “That looks a touch difficult. You don’t have a spare?”

“I don’t think so.”

He straightened himself and held out a hand, patiently waiting for the flashlight. You passed it back and he clicked it off before dropping it into his chest pocket. Discouraged that you ended up looking the fool after all, you anticipated his departure so that you could try to shove the screwdriver down the pipe and hook the ring onto the tip. It would be difficult without a flashlight, but you would have to manage. It was all you could do until Gladio and the others brought your mops back. As it was, you were about to be late meeting with Quinzi, but there was nothing that could be done about that.

Ignis, however, cast his sights on Bosco’s shelves, his bare hands sliding across the top of each shelf. It was the first time you’d seen him look so casual, no gloves, and dressed in a thin fabric t-shirt, the cut-off sleeves loose over his muscles. It was actually surprising to see someone as lean as him have muscles at all, but there they were, defined biceps and shoulders for you to see. It made you wonder what a guy like him had any business having in the training room at all.

Then, in a tone that made the words sound like they were being forced through pursed lips, he said, “I won’t even ask,” before pulling a wire hanger from off the shelf. Decorating it was a teal shirt that read, “I’m with Titan.”

He pulled the shirt from off the hanger and tossed it back onto the shelf in a crumpled heap. His eyes spotted something else, and he seized a tool that you soon recognized to be pliers. He worked and bent the hanger with his fingers and pliers until he had a long piece of wire. Then, he looked from the wire to the drain, gauged what he wanted, and curled the end into a hook.

“Pardon me, please,” he said and gently nudged you back with his hand.

You did as he asked, stepping into the doorframe of the office as he knelt in front of the drain and pushed the wire down into the pipe. He didn’t get far before reaching into his chest pocket, retrieving the flashlight and holding it over his shoulder toward you.

“Could I trouble you to hold the light for me?” he asked.

The way he phrased the request was unlike anything you’d heard before. When he asked to be taken down to the playing field in the utility vehicle, it had been snarky and full of contempt. Maybe it was just because you were freaking out a little at having broken the auto scrubber _and_ now was late heading to the Community Center, but you were pretty sure you were hearing him in new tones.

“Ah…sure.” You took the flashlight and hovered behind him, careful not to let your legs bump into his back.

He leaned over the hole and concentrated on lining up the wire with the opening of the ring. It took him more time to make that part happen, careful not to accidentally knock the ring further into the pipe. You watched him, trying not to breathe for fear of distracting him, and then a smirk appeared on his lips.

“Too easy,” he said and pushed the wire through the ring. Lifting it from the hole, he let the black ring dangle in front of you. “And here you are.”

Relief wrapped you in a big, silly hug and you were tempted to do the same to him, despite how much he hated you. Instead, you allowed yourself the grin you internally felt, and gently took the ring from off the wire.

“Take care not to drop it,” he said and set off to work tightening the grate back over the drain. He took the screwdriver you used and rotated it around each little screw.

“Thanks,” you said after a while, not sure if a gesture of appreciation would’ve been the right thing to go for. “You saved my hide.”

“Yes, well, in spite of past circumstances, I’m glad that something positive could emerge from this.”

You paused, taking in his words completely. There was definitely bite in that tone, but you felt that his intentions were to be nicer, and you figured that that was a bit of progress.

As soon as you cleaned the filter and popped it back into the rubber ring, Gladio appeared with the bucket, two mops in the wringer, and him holding both by the handle. He looked at you with slightly red cheeks.

It was all you could do to keep from snorting, but you did it anyway. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I have a newfound respect for you, Custy,” he said and passed you the mop handles. “There’s an art in cleaning that works muscles not used in swordplay. Your prowess impresses me.”

“At least there’s something to be impressed by,” Ignis cut in and stood, wiping his hands. “I believe that we’re finished here, yes?” His eyes met yours as he finished speaking.

You still weren’t sure if you liked what he was saying, despite his good intentions. His words felt cutting, and attempting to remain pleasant was beginning to grate on you.

“Yeah,” you said, handing him the flashlight once more. “I think I’ve got it from here.” Then you turned to Gladio. “Thanks, Shieldy. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

His brows lifted, and you turned away before you lost your composure and broke down laughing.

“Shieldy?” he echoed.

“Sounds rather strong on you,” Ignis said, patting his friend on the shoulder before departing from the closet. “Now then, I do believe that the marshal had wanted some _actual_ training to be done before we send the recruits back to him.”

You made quick work of the filter and water line, and asked over your shoulder, “Is the training room dry?”

Just as you figured, Gladio lingered in the doorframe. “Huh? Oh, yeah, it’s all dry now. You should be in the clear, except for those weird white streaks.”

Yes, you figured as much.

Standing, you reached for the hose on the chemical dispenser and shoved it into the clean water tank of the auto scrubber. As you turned the faucet on, you said, “Those should fade after a few days. They were caused from the pad scrubbing the tile too hard without the water acting as a buffer. If Bosco runs the machine a few times, they’ll disappear.”

“That’s all I needed to hear.” He patted your back and you glanced sideways at him. “Text ya later, Hotcakes.”

He left, but not before you were certain he recognized the blush spreading across your cheeks.

Shit.

\/\/\/

Two days later and you were back to cleaning the Community Center park, even though you were supposed to be cleaning C District that day. Since the Fantasy Faire would be coming up at the end of May, now was the time to get the premise into working order, starting with fertilizing, more weed eating, more mowing, and more restroom cleaning.

Throughout the day, you spent time texting Nyx back and forth. He said that he had been feeling neglected lately and demanded you join him, Crowe, and Libertus at the Bazaar that night.

Rolling your eyes, you texted, _**“What’s this demanding of me you’re doing?”**_ before dropping the phone into the large pocket on your cargo shorts.

You knew he was working security detail that day and didn’t expect a text back for a long while, giving you a chance to prepare your restroom supplies, mop, and swabs from the custodial closet located on the backside of the bathrooms. He surprised you, however, with a quick reply. _**“Le Spectre got asked to play again tonight. I knew you wanted a rematch to force them to finally recognize the overflowing bucket of talent that you are, so I took the liberty of signing you up for open mic night.”**_

Your heart fluttered out of your chest at the thought of getting to see Le Spectre again so soon, and, not only that, but to be able to play on stage after them again. Now that you had a show under your belt—well, sort of a show and a half, you felt confident that you could “wow” them into giving you that compliment you’d missed the first time.

Setting your supplies down to give the text your full attention, you pounded on the keyboard, _**“Dude, you’re amazing! I love you so much right now.”**_ You followed the period with several emoticons of hearts, all in different forms, styles, and colors. He knew you so well and thought of everything. Even if he could be a dunce sometimes, he was the one friend who always had your back.

When you tried to send the message, however, you were immediately prompted with a lack of service. Staring up at the ceiling and fluorescent light in the custodial closet, the gears in your mind cranked forward. Quinzi had mentioned something about the metal roof on the bathrooms scrambling the phone service. Although a hassle, you stepped outside to complete the text. It took a moment, and you had to wander back to the lawn you mowed on the other side of the bathrooms before the phone registered service again, but it sent without a hitch there, and you impatiently awaited his reply as you cleaned, occasionally stepping out of the bathrooms to wait to see if a pending text was waiting for you. All that you saw was a notification for your low battery. You figured that the roaming service and surrounding area had been the cause.

After ten minutes, you received his, _**“I know. :)”**_

How arrogant, but you smiled through it.

A minute later, your phone beeped again. He added, _**“We’re meeting up at my place and riding over with Libertus, although I imagine I’ll end up being the one driving back.”**_ You caught the meaning between the lines. Nights at the Bazaar usually meant a drinking contest between you and Libertus, even though the Glaive could undoubtedly drink you under the table. Nyx must’ve been in a playful mood, sending a storm cloud emoji with an animated lightning strike. He never messed around with emoticons otherwise.

You checked your watch. Almost eight o’clock. You cast a gaze to the sky, where the pink and orange glow from the underbelly of the clouds told you that the sun had already set, and the night blanket would be rolling out over you soon. Crap. You were behind. Sending off a quick, _**“See you then,”**_ text to Nyx, you grabbed your supplies from the closet, plugged your phone into the charger, and wheeled them over to the bathroom. You had spent so much time texting him that you’d lost track of what you were doing. After the bathrooms, you had to clean the gymnasium, locker rooms, and bathrooms there. If you pushed yourself, you could still be off by ten-thirty.

You unlocked the padlock to the men’s bathroom and let it dangle off the hasp while you cleaned inside. Keeping focused, you created a quick mental itinerary to help speed things along: trash, mirror, sinks and toilets, then floor. The moment you finished, you pulled the gloves from your hands and dumped them. The cold stung your fingers, slick with sweat, and you shivered. Even though it was almost May, the chill lingered in the air.

Glancing up at the sky, you realized that the stars had never come out. In their place were thick, gray clouds that reflected against the last light of the sun. The wind picked up. You were pretty sure you hadn’t heard anything about rain in the forecast. But, as they said, April showers brought May flowers.

You were doubtful.

Shifting all of your supplies to the women’s restroom, you locked up the men’s, and let the padlock dangle off of the hasp in the women’s. You hadn’t gotten far—just checking the paper towel and toilet paper dispensers, by the sink and in each stall, before the sound of adolescent laughter caught your ears. You glanced out of the handicap stall, but you remembered that you’d closed the door behind you to keep out the chill. Not that the bathroom was much warmer.

You hated these bathrooms.

The adolescent laughter came closer as you wiped down the mirror with glass cleaner and a paper towel. It stopped you in mid-swipe, and you bowed your head to listen. Two boys, neither sounded older than the high schoolers that roamed the premise, were right in front of the door. They were talking about some cartoon, and snickering. Either way, it was approaching eight-thirty, and that was much too late for children to be in the park.

“Go home,” you called out, knowing that the echo from your voice would carry.

Just as you suspected, the boys stopped talking.

It caused you to smile, and you returned to wiping the mirror at the second sink. When the chatter returned, you, again, told the boys to go home and that the park was closed.

“The park never closes, dummy,” one retorted back at you, causing you to drop the paper towel in your hand.

“Yeah, why don’t _you_ go home? Our mom actually works here.”

“Oh, is that so?” you raised your voice and marched toward the door. “Well then, let’s see what happens when I—”

Something jiggled against the door, and a _click_ resounded perfectly back at you. Seizing the handle, you pulled, but the door wouldn’t budge beyond a couple of millimeters. You closed the door completely and tried again.

“Ooops…” the first boy snickered. “Guess you got locked in.”

Panic struck you like a disease. Alarmed, you asked, “What are you talking about? Locked in, how?”

“So, how do you get that lock undone?” the second boy asked and it dawned on you.

Pounding a fist against the door, you bellowed, “Did you brats lock the padlock?”

Silence fell around you and you feared that they had left. Then, the second boy snickered and replied in a sing-song voice, “May~be.”

“Are you _fucking_ serious?” you screamed, frantically pulling on the door. No good. They had definitely locked the padlock.

“Ooooh, you said a bad word,” the first said, and the boys broke out into loud laughter.

You kicked the door, making it bounce on its hinges. “You damn brats. Go and get an adult, _now._ ”

“After you called us ‘brats?’” came the second. “You’re mean. A mean old lady. Let’s go, Colby.”

You kicked the door again. “Hey! I don’t think you know how serious this is. I literally can’t get out of here.” Dread passed through you when silence was your only reply. Pounding the door again, you shouted, “Are you still there? Don’t leave!” You knew it would be a bad idea, but you were desperate and added, “Here, I’ll pass you the key under the door. Just let me out of here.”

When no answer came, not a snotty remark nor snicker, you dropped to your stomach to gaze out under the inch gap of the door. The small light above the bathroom doors reflected the absent boys and you realized that you were very much alone.

“Fuck.” You stuffed your hand into your pocket for your phone, only to remember that it was still in the custodial closet on the charger. A loud groan escaped you and your back timbered against the door with a loud thud. Unless someone happened to pass by, you were utterly screwed until Quinzi came to unlock the bathrooms first thing tomorrow morning.

_That_ was a long time from now.

\/\/\/

The rain began a little after eleven and you had mistook it for someone passing outside the door. From time to time, you stared out of the gap under the door, but darkness, save the tiny light above the door, was all that you could see. The wind passed under the door, and you stopped looking after it started. Between that and the chill of the rain, you kept to the back of the restroom, rubbing your arms to keep warm.

Your eyes fastened onto a moth that had escaped into the bathroom. It danced around the fluorescent bulb, bouncing from it to the ceiling. You were already supposed to be at Nyx’s by now. The thought of it made you feel terrible. Because of the kids, you were going to miss another chance to wow Le Spectre. You wouldn’t even get to see them play—asking Le Spectre to perform again after only a couple of weeks was a special event, and one that you were robbed of.

You doubted Nyx and the others would go without you, but you wondered if they would take the time to wonder where you’d gone. Stupid. Nyx knew how much you wanted to see Le Spectre. He’d definitely wonder where you were, but he wouldn’t know where to look because the last place you told him you’d be was C District, since that’s where you were _supposed_ to be working today. Things weren’t looking up for you.

The soft rain beat faster against the concrete and tin roof until it created a steady rhythm around you. You let your back hit the partition leading into the bathroom, and slid down until your butt touched the cold ground. You didn’t want to face the chill from under the gap again, but you wanted to remain close to the door, in case someone came jogging by. You imagined that there’d be some late wanderers. It was a park, after all.

But would someone want to walk through the park in the _rain?_ That, you couldn’t be so sure about.

Bringing your knees close to your chest to keep your body heat circulating around you. You wished you hadn’t worn shorts today. Leaning your head back against the porcelain tile of the partition, your eyes found the moth and the fluorescent light again. If you were lucky, someone would find you before morning. But if you weren’t lucky, it wasn’t as though you weren’t going to get out. Tightening your arms around your cold knees, you sighed.

You had never spent the night in a bathroom before.

It was cold. _Really_ damn cold.

You closed your eyes and listened to the rain fall around you. If it hadn’t been so cold and windy, this was a sound you could listen to forever, just like the ocean waves back home. Your mind wandered at the possibilities of who could come find you, should they choose to. You thought about Nyx, Libertus, and Crowe—maybe even Gladio, since he seemed to like you well enough. Or, the sheer irony of things would lead Ignis to you while he was on a midnight jog and needed a bathroom to utilize. Wouldn’t that be funny?

But, when the clock read twelve fourteen, those thoughts stopped replaying in your head, and you concentrated on staying warm. It was still raining.

\/\/\/

You felt your body jolt to life sometime later—your watch read two forty-five. Somewhere between after midnight and now, the rain had stopped. Sounds of the lock jiggling against the door perked your ears up, and you raised your head from between your chilled knees. You didn’t dare uncurl your body; it was just too damn cold and the dizziness in your head was making you nauseous. You simply stared at the door as the jerks and bumps of the lock quickened in your ears. Then, the doorknob jiggled for a few seconds, and the door opened.

You hardly believed your eyes when you saw Ignis enter the bathroom, decked in his black jacket, pants, and shiny shoes. Even at almost three in the morning, he looked ready for a meeting, rather than bed. His face, on the other hand, betrayed the fatigue he must’ve been feeling, and when he found your gaze, you recognized that weariness for the same face that you must’ve worn.

His eyes widened for only a flash of a moment, then returned to a face nearly unreadable, not that you had the energy to read anything. Your head throbbed and you wanted to throw up. Your burning fingers shivered and you buried them in the crooks of your knees. He otherwise did not appear surprised to see you, although you were especially surprised to see him waltzing into the women’s bathroom, when he had been so against it the first time you met.

As he made long strides toward you, he said, “Have you, perchance, given thought to a job change? Given your problematic track record just in these past few weeks, I’d say that you should if you haven’t.” He stopped above you and stared. It felt condescending, and probably was, but you were so cold that you hardly cared. Your gaze left his and you curled tighter into yourself. He said, “Why haven’t you contacted anyone? We could’ve reached you far sooner if you had.”

You didn’t even have the strength to defend yourself as you mumbled, “Left it in the custodial closet.”

The heaviness in your eyelids won out and you perched your chin on your knees once more. Now that Ignis was here, you wouldn’t have to wait for Quinzi to let you out. If only you could get warm and something to eat.

The stern sound of your name made your eyes snap open, and Ignis dropped to his knees in front of you. Grasping your chin between his fingers, he said, “Look at me.”

You tried, but you just couldn’t focus. When had your teeth started chattering? His eyes on yours made you more uncomfortable than you already were, his emerald orbs shifting back and forth as he studied you. The condescension that had once existed was replaced with clear worry. Then, dropping your chin, he leaned back and shrugged out of his jacket. You watched him with curiosity, although no words would come.

Left in only his dark purple shirt, which did little to keep his own body warm, he draped the jacket over your shoulders like a cape and tucked it in around your neck and arms. “You’re not all right, are you?”

You weren’t sure what motivated him to ask such an obvious question, but you shook your head and drew yourself further into his jacket. It hung off of your frame, big, and bulky, and still warm from his body heat. It calmed you, even if only slightly. You wondered what the lining was made of, fur or faux, but it certainly made you realize that the House Aristos only required the finest.

He tugged his gloves from his hands, placed them in his back pocket, and cupped his hands over his mouth. He loudly exhaled into them several times before fiercely rubbing them together. You weren’t expecting him to seize your own and cradle them in his large, warm ones, feeling almost like fire. They burned your icy fingertips. He concentrated on your hands, pressing them against his own, and you watched while you bit down on your numb lip.

“You’re slurring,” he said as he held your hands in his. Slowly, the life returned to them and you felt your body waking up. “It’s possible that you’ve gone into early stages of hypothermia.”

Somehow, you doubted that. You weren’t _really_ slurring, were you? You wanted to challenge his claim, but the unfamiliar crease at his forehead had you wondering. He truly appeared concerned. Heat from his hands weren’t the only place you felt warm—being this close and touched by a man that despised you made you more uncomfortable than ever, even if it _did_ radiate heat in your chest.

He continued to hold your hands with his for a few minutes, all in silence. They felt rougher than you had expected, as though Ignis was a man familiar with hard labor. Maybe you were imagining things. House Aristos spent all their time in offices, filing paperwork and paying lip service. But, apparently, he knew how to cook. Like…really damn well. And he worked out, as you found out in the training room. Still, it was strange seeing him so focused and concentrated on something as simple as bringing heat back to your quivering fingers. You nearly pulled back when he brought his mouth close to your hands and breathed on them before pressing down one last time. Then, he sprung to his feet and left the restroom. You tucked your tingling hands into the jacket pockets as you watched the door swing behind him. It almost closed until he stopped it with his forearm and returned, a coffee cup in hand.

“Forgive me, I’m aware it’s a little unsanitary, but it’s a necessary procedure to slow the heat loss.” 

From your position, you could see him pop the lid and dump all of the coffee into the sink. He flipped the faucet lever and filled the empty cup, swirling the water and emptying it again. He did this three more times. Then, he stuck a finger under the running water and looked up, thoughtfully. He let it sit there for a few more seconds, and your eyes caught sight of the steam rising from the sink. He filled the coffee cup and returned to you.

“Drink this,” he commanded, offering the cup of hot water to you. You stared down at it like he was asking you to drink swamp water. He urged it closer to you. “I know it’s tap water, but it’s fine. You need to drink something warm. Sip on it if you need to, but drink it.”

Wordlessly, you carefully accepted the water, grimacing at the stinging sensation from the foam cup against your fingers. He watched you with a severe intensity, and refused to look away until you humored him. The water burned your lips, even though the temperature was far from scalding, and tasted of metal and dirt.

“That’s good,” he said, voice calmer than before. “Keep drinking.”

You’d much rather not, but couldn’t deny that you were feeling better, and took a bigger sip this time, despite the unpalatable taste.

“It might be a wise idea to accept some medical attention,” he said after you drained half of the cup.

You stared at him, cup rim in mouth for a mid-drink, and shook your head, earning a quizzical brow in return. First, you couldn’t afford any more hospital visits. The gash on your head had cost you enough, and it wasn’t as though your work was covering any of your expenses. The medical deductible for that was far too high. But, beyond all of that, you couldn’t risk letting Nyx know how serious this had all gone for you. And you definitely couldn’t let Ignis tell him.

He sighed, his eyes red and heavy. The fatigue had definitely caught up to him as it had you. “Don’t make this a matter of pride. Hypothermia can cause irreversible damage to your body.”

Pulling the cup from your lips, you sputtered, “N-No. Can’t.” When his puzzled eyes met yours, you struggled to form the word, “Brother,” but only came out with half of the syllable. As much as you didn’t want the Crownsguard knowing and gossiping about your friendship with Nyx, as had happened with the Glaives and other employees, you knew you wouldn’t be able to convince Ignis any other way. Pushing the word from your lips, you hoped you had successfully articulated, “Nyx.”

His gaze flattened, as though he had been expecting that response, and continued to watch as you drank from the cup. You weren’t sure what he was going to do, and that thought worried you terribly.

“Very well,” he said, words laced with annoyance. Standing once more, he added, “Wait here.”

He left the restroom again, but was gone for quite a while this time. You continued to nurse the water, which cooled in temperature after a few minutes. You covered your mouth as you burped, the taste of metal water on your tongue, and the smell lingered around you. The water was nasty and gross, but you felt better than you had in hours. Draining the last of the cup, you placed it on the floor next to you and pulled the ends of Ignis’ jacket around you even tighter.

You felt too complacent to check your watch to see how long he’d been gone, but you estimated close to ten minutes. You couldn’t stop the nausea from rising up to your throat, whether it be from the mild hypothermia or the very idea that Ignis had left to summon Nyx down to the bathrooms after all.

But, when he returned, he was alone, and carried with him a strange scent that you remembered smelling on Nyx after a long day of work. It was the smell of something being burned, or the after smell of an electrical fire. It was the smell of magic.

He didn’t ask if you could walk, but leaned over you and threw one of your arms over his shoulder. He both steadied and pulled you until your wobbly knees straightened as best they could. They were stiff and cold, and you immediately lost all body heat that had been held in place by your lower body.

“Let’s get you outside,” he said, supporting you as he led onward.

You didn’t think you could stand, much less walk, but he gave you little choice as he tugged your arm and pushed from behind. Leaning against him, you tried to match his step with your own. You tripped once, but, like everything else, he seemed to anticipate it, and caught you between his arm and hip.

“Slowly, now,” he said and reached for the door. He held it open as you both passed through. 

A gust of icy air hit your face and he pulled you close to his body when you shivered. For the first time, you realized how much it had rained since you’d been locked inside the bathroom.

From off in the near distance, your eyes caught the flicker of red and orange dancing embers, a fire waving at you from behind two large trees. That’s when you realized your suspicions to be true. Only a magic user could spark a fire in the rain, against all the odds. You almost felt like you should’ve known, but couldn’t understand how you even could. Only the king wielded magic, and that magic had been passed along to the Glaives. Could there be more to the story? 

You seized a fistful of his shirt as he led you forward with care. You were amazed at how gentle and patient he was, yet carried the lead as you made your way to the fire. It took a little bit of time, but, when you both arrived, you recognized the fire ring in one of the camp sites that you had helped maintain during last year’s Fantasy Faire.

A dry log was in front of the fire, and you wondered if Ignis had done it, as you were certain that it hadn’t been there before. In fact, all logs, rocks, and other makeshift seats had been cleared out after the faire last year. He helped seat you on the log, which surprised you, as it was dry and warm. You leaned in close to the fire, palms outstretched.

At last, you were feeling alive again.

Ignis peered down at you as you got comfortable, and only then were you able to realize that he, too, was shivering. Your eyes gazed at the empty spot next to you. There was more than enough room to seat the both of you, but hoped that he wouldn’t get weirded out by it.

Testing the waters, you cleared your throat and attempted a, “Sit.” You thought it sounded pretty articulate—better than your earlier attempts.

At first, he appeared reluctant, but gave in and sat next to you, shoulder and leg pressed up against yours as he enjoyed the fire, stretching out his fingers to the fire and turning them palm up and down. 

You both sat in silence for a minute or two, and then he said, “Everyone is searching for you, too. I need to get in contact with them and tell them that you’re safe.”

Before you could respond, he had already pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed a quick number. You eyed him, curiously, and wondered which of “everyone” he had decided to call.

You didn’t have time to wonder as someone on the other line answered and Ignis said, “I found her. Tell the others. She may also need—” his eyes flickered to you for only a brief moment. He must’ve recognized the clear worry in your eyes that he’d say “medical attention,” especially if it was Nyx he was talking to, but his voice evened out and he said, “…a ride home.” He nodded to himself as you heard the garble of an unidentifiable male voice on the other end, and Ignis said, “Be sure to bring something warm to drink. Sweet, preferably. No coffee or alcohol.”

He ended the call and returned the phone to his pocket. Then, he focused in on the fire, his outstretched arms taking in the heat from the wavy flames.

A smile quivered at your lips as you mumbled, “Thank you.”

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t,” he replied, attention on the fire. Glancing sideways at him, you were prohibited from seeing his eyes, as the reflection of the flames bounced off of his glasses. Still, his lips were taut and his jaw tight. “I think it’s rather foolish not to accept medical attention.”

Arguing would’ve been in your nature, and preferred if you weren’t feeling so crappy. Instead, you tried to voice the burning question on your mind and hoped that he understood, “How did you find me?”

You were pleased to know that your tongue hadn’t failed you as he replied, “Your friend, the Glaive—Nyx, I believe you said. He was the first to report your absence.”

So, Nyx noticed first. That was unsurprising, especially since you never arrived at his place. Crowe and Libertus were probably on that same worry page. 

Ignis shifted his weight on the log, inching closer to you. You wondered if he realized what he was doing, but remembered that it was very cold and, for someone dressed in a thin shirt with rolled sleeves, he must’ve been especially freezing. You pushed yourself closer to him, hoping to create some kind of warmth that didn’t involve body-to-body heat touch.

He continued, “He made contact with Gladio, only to learn that he hadn’t seen you, either. In turn, Gladio called me. Because I was already working late at the Citadel, there was little problem in taking a trip to the surveillance offices. In the meantime, I acquired your boss’ contact information and gave him a call. He explained that you were on an unusual shift duty today, cleaning the Community Center Park. So, the surveillance officers ran the footage around there until we tracked you to the restrooms.”

You pressed your lips together and looked down at your knees, which still burned from the cold. You covered them with Ignis’ jacket and leaned into him. He remained solid against you, although still trembling.

“Are you okay?” you asked. “You’re shivering.”

He tensed against you—perhaps your question threw him off the train of thought he’d been going with. In a soft voice, he replied, “I’m fine.” Then, he cleared his throat as though you’d never interrupted him and continued, “The security camera over there by the light post…” he nodded toward it, so you followed his gaze. You couldn’t see it, but you knew it was there. You’d seen it a million times before. “It was that camera that revealed the true nature of those two boys and how they had locked you in.”

Frowning, you mumbled, “They were trying to play a prank on me.”

“So it would seem. Luckily for you, they just happen to be the offspring of a woman who works two offices down from me. She’s already been notified of her children’s misbehavior. I’m certain they won’t be acting so carelessly in the future.” He squared himself back to the fire, returning his hands upward in front of the flames. “Your boss informed me that, due to some vandalism to the restrooms prior, he’d been forced to take action and place padlocks on each of the doors. He was kind enough to tell me which key went to them, and the surveillance officers provided me with that and the key to the lock itself.”

Of course. Custodial wasn’t the only place where one could acquire a grandmaster key card and other various keys. Specialized departments, such as surveillance, maintenance, and some of the highest personnel were allowed to keep them, too.

Ignis added, “Your boss has most likely arrived on scene by now. Gladio is coming from the convention center, and your Glaive friends were searching the area of your regular cleaning run.”

You glanced up at him again, his profile prominent against the cut of the darkness and orange glow of the flame. If he wasn’t such an uptight, incorrigible man, you could’ve pegged him as a gorgeous male model straight out of the glamour magazines you would glance through in your place in line at the grocery store.

“You didn’t tell them I was in the bathroom?” you asked, and realized afterward that your voice no longer felt strained, and your dizziness waned. That was a good sign, you figured.

“No. In case we were wrong, I didn’t want to jump to any conclusions until I checked the premise myself. Besides, I was the closest at the time, currently having been on the property. No one else was even at the Citadel. It just made sense that I came here first.”

You chuckled. “But decided to stop and grab coffee on the way?”

He turned ever so slightly to you, brows lifted above his glasses. “I’ll have you know that I had that coffee in hand long before going to the surveillance office. It sat cold all of this time.”

“Because you had to work late?” you egged on.

He nodded. “Because I had to work late.” His gaze returned to the fire. “However, it proved to be a valuable item to have on my person, don’t you agree? Without it, I couldn’t have given you that foul restroom water to drink.”

You scoffed. “Ew. Gross. Thanks for putting it to me like that.”

“I just assumed that, since you’re in a position that requires you to clean unsanitary things—”

“Wow. Not making it any better, just letting you know that.”

Much to your surprise, he chuckled, something genuine and light. It sounded good on him.

Silence fell around you and you gazed into the fire. The others would be arriving any second, you knew. You let your head lean against Ignis’ shoulder, and then tensed. It had come as second nature to do with Nyx, and Ignis was most _definitely_ not Nyx. He didn’t push you away or berate you, however, so you stayed where you were.

“Thanks, Iggy.” The words left your mouth before you knew it, and you tensed again. The nickname had popped out because you heard Gladio use it so often. However, you weren’t a friend of the royal adviser, and wondered if you’d crossed a line. You were doing a lot of that in under ten seconds.

But he replied, “You’re most welcome.”

\/\/\/

Quinzi arrived in the enclosed utility vehicle, Gladio in the passenger seat. Upon seeing the fire, and then you, your boss threw the vehicle into park, and both occupants jumped out. It wasn’t like you weren’t expecting the angry, gorilla tantrum from Quinzi, but to hear him actually conduct it, and toward _you,_ no less, made you shrivel up into yourself. He demanded to know the same thing Ignis had—why you hadn’t called, and, when you calmly explained what happened, he asked how you could be so careless as to _not_ lock the padlocks behind you to keep this from happening.

Gladio was, at least, a little more sympathetic to your cause. You weren’t sure if it was because it was in Gladio’s nature to be cool, or because Ignis told them both not to worry. Why the adviser was covering for you, making the bad situation less than what it was, you were far from coming to a conclusion. But you liked it, nonetheless.

It came in handy especially when Nyx, Libertus, and Crowe arrived on scene. Your surrogate brother, dressed casually, as though he were about to go out to a bar—because they _had_ been, and you ruined that, stormed up to you with hellfire behind him. That hellfire only became more of a doom-like volcano by the time they all learned what had taken place. Between Nyx and Quinzi, shouting everything instead of having a normal, adult conversation, you found yourself at a loss for words and took the beating until you were pretty damn KOed.

Gladio butted out when Nyx told him to, and Ignis left you to the wolves on this one. You took back the nice thoughts you had just had about him. Traitor. From the reflection of the fire, you noticed the start of a curl on Libertus’ face, in an attempted effort not to smile, but failing miserably. Just as Quinzi started in about adding _this_ atrocity to the ever growing list of matters to discuss in the next custodial meeting, Crowe called for a timeout.

“Look, she’s exhausted—we _all_ are,” she said, stepping between you and the angry men. “I think she gets the point.” Her eyes pierced Nyx at that last remark.

Being close to three-thirty, according to your watch, you didn’t have the strength to defend yourself anymore, although you didn’t feel like you needed defending. The stupid thing had been your fault anyway. What it really came down to was a missed opportunity to wow your most favorite band with the new song you’d been working on in your spare time, when you were getting frustrated with learning the tin whistle, of course. If anyone could’ve read your heart, they would’ve known that that had been punishment enough.

You pulled yourself deeper into Ignis’ coat, mouth pulled beneath the collar so that your breath cast back from the fabric onto your cheeks. From the top of the collar, your tired eyes stared at Nyx, who frowned at you.

“I do believe that we are all coming from a point of excessive exhaustion,” Ignis intervened at the chance when the first silence fell. As though proving his point, he stifled a yawn with the back of his hand and cleared his throat. “The most important thing is that she is safe and sound. For now, let us retire this topic and resume again tomorrow.”

Even though it meant ending the current state of things, you most _certainly_ did not want to _resume again tomorrow._ Fuck that.

“I’ll take her home,” Crowe offered and reached for your hand, which you graciously gave. “The rest of you should take the adviser’s advice and head on home.”

“I’ll come with you,” Nyx said, but Crowe was already shaking her head before he finished his sentence.

“Not this time,” she said. “Just go home.”

“She’s right,” Libertus said. “Time to call it a night.”

Nyx made eye contact with you one last time before turning away from you for good. Quinzi thanked Ignis and offered to help clean up the fire.

“That won’t be necessary,” the adviser said, restraining another yawn. “I’ve got it under control.”

You told Crowe in soft tones that you’d left your phone in the custodial office, and she offered to grab it for you. You handed her your set of keys, pointed out the correct key, and she left your side.

Gladio approached you, a lighthearted smile on his face, and placed a hand on your shoulder. Squeezing the fabric of the jacket between his fingers, he said, “Glad you’re safe, Flamey. You had us real worried.”

Sheepishly, you averted your gaze, and moved away to pry the jacket from off of you, despite the mental complaint of losing your beloved body heat. Ignis was quick to stop you with a halt of his hand.

“Keep it for now. I’m sure we’ll see each other again, so you can return it, then.”

Wordlessly, you pulled it back onto your shoulders and sank your chin beneath the collar. The jacket really was too big on you. You must’ve looked goofy.

Then the big guy handed a disposable cup to you. You stared at it like you didn’t know what to do with it.

“Iggy said to bring you something sweet and warm. There’s a dispenser up in the convention center. It’s apple cider. I remember how much you wanted it at Candace Hill. Sorry, I don’t think that this one is as good as theirs, though.”

Oh. So it had been Gladio Ignis talked to on the phone. And he remembered something you liked. Taking it from him, you smiled your thanks, too embarrassed to express that you were really impressed at his memory. To keep yourself from saying anything stupid like that, you occupied your mouth with the lip of the cup and the contents inside. Mmmm…water and apple cider powder.

Gladio grinned at his friend. “Thanks again for finding her, Iggy. You’re a lifesaver.”

Your eyes fell to the fire Ignis had made by magic. You contemplated Gladio’s words and smiled beneath the jacket collar. No one really understood exactly how _much_ of a lifesaver Ignis had actually been. And that, you figured, you’d keep a secret for now.

\/\/\/

The bus ride home was filled with questions by Crowe about what happened, how bad things had gotten, and how someone who was supposed to hate you ended up being the one to find you. You glossed over the part where Ignis had pretty much saved your life, because that sounded too dramatic, and you still doubted that you had early stages of hypothermia to begin with. You also didn’t want to admit to her that Ignis’ reason for coming most likely stemmed from Gladio’s puppy crush on you, and probably would’ve left you to freeze otherwise. In fact, you could almost imagine Ignis casting a blizzard spell under the one inch door gap just to ensure your untimely demise.

As for Nyx, Crowe insisted that he’d be better by the next day. Nyx was Nyx, she reminded you. Ever always the worrywart.

After she got you inside your trailer and made sure you warmed up properly, she left you with a hug and a promise to go to Candace Hill soon, even if the guys didn’t want to go. You knew exactly which over thirty, cranky, Mama Bear Glaive guys she was talking about.

\/\/\/

You called out of work sick two days straight.

On the phone, Quinzi sounded very matter-of-fact, neither wishing you a warm recovery, nor belittling you on your illness. It just added insult to injury, getting sick after missing Le Spectre came to town. The gods hated you.

You called in for a third day, but Quinzi demanded—yes, demanded—that you show for the mandatory custodial meeting that afternoon. From the tone in his voice, you dared not question his decision to make you come in sick, but you certainly had a colorful array of words to describe him and everything about him after you got off the phone.

You sat with a box of tissues and cold medicine at your spot at the table. Today, the meeting was held somewhere other than the Mess Hall, at the famous Round Table. Today, Quinzi ordered use of one of the private rooms in the Glaive library, and brought in a projector. And today, you felt that the worst custodial meeting to ever hit you thus far was about to take place. He’d taken the liberty of setting up a slideshow, and drew all of the little pictures on the slides himself. If they hadn’t been so crude and if you hadn’t been so sick, you would’ve found them hysterical.

Your coworkers sat around you, but left an empty chair gap on either side, allowing you to spread your tissues and cold medicine around you. You even had a wastebasket tucked between your knees to dispose of all of your snot rags. Since he wouldn’t let you leave the table each and every time you needed to blow your nose—which was a lot—you had to endure the embarrassment of doing it right at the table.

You and all of your coworkers were drawn as identifiable stick figures, Quinzi with a round body, glasses, and a Li’l Malbuddy patch on the shirt, Chadwick as a similar looking stick figure, but with a mullet, Lambert with his handlebar mustache, Ermin with Galahdian dreadlocks, Reimund with curly hair, and you with your usual hairstyle and two circles that you assumed were meant to be your boobs. They weren’t drawn to scale, you noticed, and felt glad for that. You’d be having some major back problems otherwise.

The first slide showed the correct and incorrect way to clean tables, one with a floor mop, covered in a poor attempt at drawing vomit, and the other with a shiny table mop covered in stars.

“I figured that a slideshow would be the only way to get through to you,” Quinzi explained as he flipped to the next slide. “The right way…and the wrong way.”

The following slide showed the correct and incorrect way of using the utility vehicle. One slide had the stick figure obviously meant to be you being hurled through the windshield, an evil looking Lambert smiling in the driver’s seat, and the other slide being you buckled safely into the passenger seat, Lambert frowning a little.

There were others, like a slide of taking the online training, which showed a knowledgeable custodian, and the other showing a gravely ill custodian after concocting—you _thought_ it said “ultimate cleaning disinfectant” on Quinzi’s slide, but you were pretty sure that disinfectant was spelled wrong. You weren’t going to openly acknowledge it. More slides of Caterpillar Solitaire, free lunch handouts, leaving water in the auto scrubber, not vacuuming House Aristos’ offices, taping “OUT OF ORDER” signs to the Jumbotron, and properly putting equipment away. You wondered who had prompted that last slide to come into the existence of the custodial meeting.

The next slide was a clear slight against you, showing the padlock on a door left hanging vulnerably on a hasp, and the other showing it a bit more secure. You definitely blew your nose a lot through this part while he discussed padlock etiquette, and did not mind when he kept sending glares your way for being disruptive.

The next slide showed Quinzi’s desk, one being covered in cobwebs with a “NO NOTES,” sign written above it, and the next half showing the desk overflowing in, like, five-hundred notes. Super unrealistic.

The custodial meeting went on for another forty five minutes, and ended with you all having to sign an employee safety rule sheet. Glaring at Quinzi when he had his back to you, you made sure to rub your runny nose with the back of your hand and smear it all over the paper before passing it back to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iggy...you closet gentleman, you.
> 
> This chapter was just a paragraph shy of 40 pages. Yeah, I know. @_@
> 
> Fantasy Faire next chapter! Although, I haven't finished writing it, I'm hoping that I can get it up next week. I'm gonna try my hardest, but these next two weeks are hell week for con. Yikes! 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed and thank you all for taking the time to read my dictionary sized chapters, haha. When I get going, I don't stop and, then, when I look at my page count, I slam my head against the keyboard in disbelief.


	4. It's All Fun and Games Until Someone Accidentally Gets Married

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's here--The day of the Fantasy Faire has finally arrived!
> 
> Donning your cutest costume, tin whistle in tow, you prepare yourself for a wild and crazy weekend.
> 
> ...And a wild and crazy weekend it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, the story isn't dead! But this chapter took me absolutely forever because, well...it's literally the size of a novella X.X I thought about splitting it up, but there were so many things I wanted to include that I felt wouldn't have come off the same otherwise, and it wouldn't have made much of a difference because the word count wouldn't have changed, and, well, I _did_ tag it with "Stupid, crazy, ridiculously long, hair-pulling chapters." In the future, the chapters WON'T be this long. Except for maybe the end. But yeah...read this over many afternoon teas. It'll probably take that long. #sorrynotsorry
> 
> This chapter is really different from the others so far, and the chapters to follow. I basically wrote it as my own point of demurral because I'd missed the Assassin's Festival, picking up FFXV the _day after_ the event ended. *Sigh. But there were so many things I wanted to include here, and wanted to put a spin on a traditional Renaissance Faire. Like I said, this chapter's atmosphere is totally different, but be expecting a different contrast to Chapter Five, when shyt really starts to hit the fan. @_@ 
> 
> ...I think that's all of the points I need to make until the end. Hope you enjoy this steaming pile of crap!
> 
> #SaltyNyxandTreddFTW. Not really. I wanted to punch them as I wrote them. But they both have their separate reasons XD

**We Just Merely Get Swept Up**

**IV.**

**It’s All Fun and Games Until Someone Accidentally Gets Married**

You had always been a sickly child growing up. Colds, especially, were the bane of your short-lived existence, and always had a way of outlasting their welcome. Because of this, you spent the duration of May mostly indoors, which sucked, considering that you’d rather be outside. Perhaps it was the fluctuating season temperature, and perhaps it was the lingering chill from the not-hypothermia you had, but the combination was a force to be reckoned with. 

Maybe it wasn’t a terrible thing—Crowe and Libertus sent texts of the string of new rumors going around about you, how you were a Citadel Saboteur, how you’d given Estrella Bellamy’s children a tongue lashing laced with foul language, frightening them into locking you into the bathroom as they ran for their lives, and how you faked having hypothermia. You weren’t sure how that last one got around, since you were vehemently convinced that you never _had_ hypothermia in the first place.

Then, Crowe sent a text with a snapshot of an e-mail sent to Nyx. Since he’d been the one to sign you up for open mic night, he received a rather displeased letter from the owner of the Bazaar, who chastised him (under the guise of you, of course, since he’d signed up under _your_ name) for pranking the open mic list because you were a no-call-no-show and made the staff of the Bazaar look silly while they wasted time waiting for you. It had also kept another potential participant from signing up, as the slots for open mic night were limited. Your heart dropped heavier at that part than all of the rumors combined, especially since it was _your_ name addressed in the e-mail. 

Apparently, Nyx was going to head down to the Bazaar in person to explain what happened, but if he ever did, you never found out. You hadn’t been speaking much to each other, between him working, and you being sick and currently not working C District. It wasn’t like you to feel sheepish and ashamed around your brother, but you didn’t think you had ever disappointed him like this before. With what little correspondence you did have with each other, it was currently casual and noncommittal to any real kind of hanging out. In fact, you hadn’t really seen much of any of your Glaive friends in the past few weeks. It bothered you not seeing Crowe and Libertus, but it was downright torture not being around Nyx.

There had to be more to the story than you were aware of, you told yourself. There was no way that Nyx would stay angry with you for this long over something that hadn’t even been your fault. You kept that hope close to your heart when you ran into Pelna, who complained of the Glaives having to work more outside the wall than usual these days. That had to be it, you convinced yourself. But a part of you couldn’t help doubting it.

He still wasn’t texting you very much, and you attributed it to his being frustrated with what happened at the park. You were certain that the e-mail hadn’t helped matters. For days after the incident, you reread his texts, which had started shortly after you were supposed to be at his apartment, asking if you were working late, until when he told you he was going to have to leave without you, to the one where he worriedly asked why you weren’t picking up the phone, to the one where he and the others were outside your trailer door. From what you’d gathered from the texts and Gladio, Nyx had to track down the Shield’s number from those Firestarter Glaives, and called him at around twelve-thirty, long after you were supposed to be home, at the very least.

You learned three fun facts about surveillance from Quinzi shortly after that incident, too. One: it wasn’t like surveillance actually watched any of the other footage outside of the main areas of B District, unless something major was going on, even though they had access to all of the districts. That was what patrol, custodial, and maintenance was for…evidently. So, of course no one initially saw you get locked in the bathroom. Two: surveillance wasn’t as round-the-clock as you had always thought. There was a large gap between their last swing man and the first graveyard shift. Something about cutting down on unnecessary Citadel expenses. Bolstered Crownsguard and Kingsglaive made up for that cost. So, even if surveillance _did_ watch other districts routinely, no one was around to watch you get locked in the bathroom. And three: Many of the cameras were broken. That meant that they were still recording, but nothing could be seen at that particular time. The cameras in the Community Center Park made up about eighty percent of the broken cameras in the Citadel from children throwing rocks at them and breaking the glass dome cases. So, even if someone was around to watch all of the cameras in every district, many of the cameras in the Community Center Park couldn’t have shown your true location, except for the one that Ignis claimed showed the children locking you in the bathroom.

Awesome.

Quinzi made a petition on your behalf to the department big boss and King Regis about having the cameras fixed due to your uncanny circumstance. The big boss was less sympathetic, but King Regis showed true concern and dealt with the matter as soon as he caught wind of it. After all, broken cameras meant less security, and less security meant less safety. To be honest, his overzealous concern for the matter puzzled you. It wasn’t like you were anyone special, so why did it matter that the cameras got fixed right away? The cameras worked in the Citadel, where they were meant to, and your department supervisor should have shown the same enthusiasm as King Regis in fixing the less important cameras. You swore you’d never understand nobles and royalty, and their priorities.

To compensate for your sickness, Quinzi kept your work shift primarily in the convention center, working alongside Garula Berney, who was _not,_ in fact, a garula, but was built like one and had the temperament to match. Most of the time, you stayed out of his way, and it helped that your run was on one side of the convention center, and his on the other.

You saw little of your new friends since that night at the park, although, Gladio kept within textual poking proximity. He asked for a reschedule date for you to come play the full set you’d promised. Then he asked if you wanted to take another trip back to Candace Hill. While both of these events sounded way better than staying inside, watching cheesy movies and practicing the tin whistle, you just couldn’t shake the cold. He understood, of course, but that didn’t stop the barrage of texts coming at least once every few days.

This, of course, also meant that you hadn’t seen Ignis to be able to return his jacket, which you weren’t complaining about. That night of embarrassment was enough to last you a lifetime. You thought about asking Gladio to return it for you, and that was about as far as it went.

But, without him and your new friends, and Nyx and the Glaives, you spent a lot of time alone when you weren’t at work. Which, of course, sucked, considering that today was the start of the Fantasy Faire. You were going alone, it seemed, and it was the fourth day in a row in which you were feeling decent enough to be outdoors. You’d asked for the weekend off in advance to attend, knowing full well that Quinzi wouldn’t be happy that you were asking for vacation to attend the very event you were meant to be working. You kept reminding him that you wanted the weekend off, even when he kept forgetting to ask you to work the Fantasy Faire. You hoped he wouldn’t see you wandering around, and would have to keep on high alert as you did.

You bought your costume online weeks ago, which you normally never did, but you couldn’t resist the cute little bodice and flowing sleeves, all done in your favorite color. From the look of the picture, you felt like you could twirl and the skirt would follow your frame wherever you went. When the costume arrived, you tried it on immediately, adjusting the ties and sleeves just the way you wanted. An online video showed you how to tie a bodice without a second hand, although it took you a few tries to get it exactly perfect. It cut your frame to make you look pretty damn sexy, but it definitely felt a little tight under your arms and under your rib cage. Still, you figured that that was how it was supposed to feel.

You also may or may not have adjusted it so that your bosom spilled over the bodice top just enough to keep your nipples from showing, but gaining the desired effect. Hey, you reminded yourself, it had been over a year since your last date. Best to live it up a little. And nothing was wrong with a little shameless flirting.

Except for now, as you rode the shuttle down to the Community Center from your trailer, which was of a considerable distance, and you noticed all of the old men gawking at you until you met their gaze, in which they’d sheepishly look away. Why sexy men couldn’t be riding the shuttle right now, you were loathed to know. Horrible timing, you chalked it up to, no matter how silly that resolution seemed, and the weekend brought no company men with it. Even at nine in the morning, there still should’ve been someone other than the occasional city walker and bratty teens with nothing better to do while away from school.

Either way, you resolved yourself to having a good time, even if you’d be doing it solo. In a small, burlap pouch, you carried your trusty tin whistle, which you named “Angelo” to complement your “Sally,” and fourteen songs to choose from so that it looked like your practicing had actually paid off.

\/\/\/

Life inside the faire colored you differently than last year, when you worked the event dressed in your ugly green custodial uniform. Some patron mistook you for a Lenny’s food worker and asked if the franchise had set up a stall in the food court.

You loved the smell of wood burning, and the campground on the other side of the faire made you wish you had forked out the extra money to rent a space, even though your tent had a million holes in it and you felt that you couldn’t cook over a campfire to save your soul. Incense intertwined with food brought you to new heights, and you took your weekend wristband from the lady at the ticket booth with a little too much eagerness. She offered a wry smile in return and handed you a pamphlet with a list of all of the attractions and shows.

Even though the faire had only begun less than an hour ago, patrons swarmed the paved walkways in droves. Under each and every colorful canopy top held no less than half a dozen men, women, and children. The stone bathrooms that you were locked in last month already had a line stretching out beyond the lawn where Ignis had sparked the fire for you. That same fire pit was occupied by the blacksmith, who hammered a glowing piece of metal over his workbench, minus the log. You actually had to clear that away a couple of weeks ago.

There were far more patrons in costume than you had anticipated, and just as many actors and vendors. You saw everything from moving trees, to dragons, and pirates and knights. There were plenty of cosplayers, especially from King’s Knight. You had only just recently downloaded that game, since Prompto and Noctis praised it so much. Playing it in your spare time or days off, you couldn’t help but agree that their praise was justified and couldn’t wait to tell them that you had joined the ranks as Wizard Kaliva in hopes of being able to play with them soon.

Being a part of the faire, rather than working it, you noticed things that had escaped your eye last year. All of the stages had different sets scheduled on chalk boards or parchment paper, both of which hung on trees in front of the stages. The King’s Court—one serving justice, not his actual court—consisted of a punishment rack and two sets of stocks, one a standing and the other a sit-down. As you passed, you watched as one man, a patron most likely, seated himself at the sit-down, just before a bucket of water splashed him in the face. You couldn’t help but laugh, and that was followed by the spectating crowd around you, who watched the show.

Since you had the whole weekend to enjoy the faire, you made the first loop in just a little under an hour, and buried your nose in the pamphlet. So many shows to choose from, not including the joust meant to start in twenty minutes. The picture of two knights on different colored chocobos intrigued you.

“There you are,” came a voice that shattered your concentration. Accompanied with such enthusiasm came an arm around your shoulder and spun you until you were sick. “You never answered our texts.”

Eyes meeting blue ones, Nyx grinned as he pulled you into a side hug and then let go. It wasn’t hard to mistake the smell of his cologne, aftershave, and a distinct scent of alcohol on him. It created a unique, minty leather flavor crowned with oats and barley. You wouldn’t be unsmelling that anytime soon. You staggered away, frowning when you realized that he had crumpled your bodice and blouse.

Straightening yourself and propping your boobs back into place, you said, “I left my phone in my pouch,” before gesturing to the black suede bag dangling from your belt. Then you scanned his apparel. You almost expected him to be dressed in his Glaive uniform, but Nyx was dressed in black half armor with a burgundy cape. A sheathed sword hung from off of the strap on his back. “You got the day off?”

He appeared to be in a good mood—it had been a while since you’d seen that side and you smiled on the inside. It meant that you could be comfortable enough to ask him about his disappearing act for the past several weeks. It also meant that he probably had a pretty good buzz going. 

“Off-duty-on-duty,” he replied. You knew that. A Glaive was never truly off-duty. “Libertus and Crowe are in the leather shop.”

You turned on your heel to follow where he pointed. Indeed, the duo lingered in front of the booth, Libertus dressed in a casual black tunic with suede pants. His Glaive boots were out of place, but you figured that he was at the booth with the intent of getting new ones, judging by the leather footwear in his hands. He examined them with a kind of care you had only ever seen him give craft beer and jewelry—especially beads. According to Nyx, beads were a huge trend back in Galahd.

You adored Crowe’s outfit. A cross between a pirate and warrior, you wondered where she got her red underbust bodice and matching colored scrunched skirt—short in front and long in back. Too cute. A black feathered hat crowned her head. Cavalier? You couldn’t tell. It just looked awesome. While Libertus turned the boots over in his hands, she stood in front of a standing rack, a display of faux arba and spiracorn tails meant to pin on the back of one’s costume. You weren’t naïve enough to feign a tail’s meaning, and even though you’d never gotten any tail at faire, you were pretty sure Nyx had.

Jerking a thumb in the stand’s direction, you grinned. “Need some tail?”

He swallowed his own grin. “You pointing at Libertus?”

That caused you to burst out laughing. He grabbed you in another side hug, and you were sure he did it because you complained about it the first time. He left his arm around your shoulder, even as you adjusted your bodice.

“I haven’t heard from you in a while,” you confessed, and then immediately regretted it. It wasn’t like you really wanted to get into any deep conversations, but it had been bothering you a great deal lately.

“Well, that makes two of us,” he said, eyes ahead. “You said you were sick and that we’d hang when you got better. I was waiting for just that. I figured you were spending time with your new friends.”

“I haven’t seen much of them, either,” you replied. “I thought you were angry with me.”

He chuckled. “Angry for a whole month? Get real, Danny. Nothing you could do would piss me off for that long. Three weeks, maybe, but never for a full month.”

You flung his arm from off of your shoulder in a huff, all while he laughed.

“I’m _serious,_ you jerk,” and then you backhanded him across the arm. He didn’t even flinch. “I thought you were mad.”

He seemed to let his laughter slowly die out like a flame before squaring himself toward you. Maybe it was because he had already been drinking, but you actually couldn’t read him at that moment, and those moments didn’t happen often.

“Look, was I irritated for a bit? Maybe. But can you blame me? Something really terrible could’ve happened to you that night. Was I irritated for a whole month? No. If anything, I thought you were angry with me.”

This confused you. After all of your inner deliberating, tossing and turning at night in total anguish, your phone in hand with a blank text meant for him lighting up your screen, he thought _you_ were mad at him?

“Why would _I_ be angry with you?” you asked, the notion still a whirlwind of befuddlement.

He shrugged. “Because I got you blacklisted from the Bazaar. Crowe didn’t tell you?”

Blacklisted? Black… _what?_

Terror seized you. “She told me about the e-mail and that you were going down to talk to the owner. What do you mean ‘blacklisted?’”

At that point, it became incredibly easy to read your brother. He had done fucked up somehow, and you were going to, undoubtedly, end up in a rage.

Refusing to meet your gaze, he even turned his body a little bit, and said in much more uncertain tones, “I…uh, well, I went down to talk to the owner, and he really didn’t like the fact that I had signed you up under my e-mail, especially on that night, when they had such a big name band in town. It obviously wouldn’t have been a problem if things hadn’t happened the way they did, seeing as he would’ve never found out I’d done it, but he’s old and set in his ways—”

You _really_ didn’t like where this was going. Stepping closer to him, you felt your fingers twitching, crunching the pamphlet in your hand. Slugging him across the face sounded like a pretty good idea. The Bazaar was your favorite venue and bar in Insomnia. If he _really_ meant what he was saying…

“ _What_ happened, Nyx?” you asked slowly, and through gritted teeth.

All at once, the smile returned to his face. He locked his arm around your neck, secured it in his elbow, and fiercely ground his knuckles into your head as you screamed. As quickly as it happened, he let go and you jumped back, seizing your pained skull.

“He blackballed me from going there for six months—and I’m never allowed to sign anyone else up other than myself for open mic night,” he said and laughed.

You, on the other hand, didn’t find it funny. You could see yourself from his eyes now, hair sticking up and ruined, after you had spent so much time setting it straight. And he clearly didn’t know his own strength. His knuckles alone were strong enough to rub your head raw.

“You’re drunk!” you accused and smoothed down your hair with your hands and the crumpled pamphlet. Your scalp stung to the touch.

“Not yet, but on my way.” Then, he gestured for you to continue walking, which you were less inclined to do after his noogie attack. It made you regret asking him anything at all. Of course he would deflect your concerns and not take anything seriously. Your next mistake was asking him anything serious while he’d been drinking. Still, you followed him, even if it was with a considerable amount of distance put between you. You had thought about bringing up what Pelna had said, about the Glaives working outside the wall and if that had been true, but thought better of it. He wouldn’t answer honestly. Never about Glaive work, anyway.

“Got a surprise for you,” he said as you walked toward the leather booth.

Your eyes lifted. It had to have been a real surprise, since you didn’t even know that he and your friends would be coming. You had expected them all to be working.

Flatly, you replied, “Another noogie?”

“I never announce my attacks, Danny. You should know that by now.” Coyly, his eyes found yours. “Libertus and I went in half on a campsite here. I remember you saying you wanted the full faire experience, so we’ve got the site and a couple of tents.”

You had a smile that matched his and then some, immediately forgetting your frustration with him. “Really?” At his nod, it was your turn to side hug him, despite the fact that you ended up shoving your breasts into his arm. He gave something in between a scoff and a laugh before gently prying you off.

“We actually spent the night out here last night. I was gonna have you join us, but we weren’t technically off last night, and I didn’t want to ruin it by us having to go back to the Citadel and leaving you here.”

While the confession left you feeling a little neglected, you tried to understand his point of view. Again, it had been some days since you’d last talked, you reminded yourself, and wondered if he had truly thought you were angry with him. For once, you wished he’d be honest about the reason, and if it had anything to do with his Glaive duties. Still, you did your best to replace the negative thoughts with the idea of camping under the stars to the smell of firewood and whatever meat Libertus or Nyx decided to cook up. It had been eons since you’d gone camping with them last.

Then, you remembered that you had nothing to change into, since your plan had originally been to head home after faire.

“I don’t have any of my camping stuff,” you said, voice dropping to a mumble.

He shrugged. “We brought some spare blankets and supplies, and I brought your stupid pajamas from my place.”

You snorted into laughter. “You weren’t planning on texting me at all, you liar. You really just wanted to make this a surprise.”

He feigned pain from the accusation. “Who, me? Never.”

Nyx was so bad at creating surprises that he was almost good, if that made any sense to you at all. He had only thought some of the things through, but you weren’t sure if you wanted to be tromping around in your Li’l Malbuddy pajamas for the others to see.

Crowe’s eyes met yours as you approached and she surveyed you from head to toe. “Hey, gorgeous,” she said and hugged you.

“Speak for yourself.” Gesturing to her costume, you asked, “Where did you get this? It’s stunning.”

“Apparently, Elea knows how ta sew,” Libertus answered in Crowe’s stead. For some reason, he seemed pleased to announce that fact. “For a small price and some duty changes, she made mine and Crowe’s get-up.”

“She wouldn’t even attempt what I wanted,” Nyx said and knocked on his breastplate. “Miles sold me his and I patched it up.”

Miles and Elea: two Glaives you’d never formally been introduced to, save Elea that one time in the elevator. 

Your Cheshire grin became too much even for your face to handle as you slowly pulled the words from your lips, “Any specific reason why you and Crowe nearly match in colors?”

Nyx deflected your antagonism. Wrapping an arm around Crowe’s shoulders, despite the roll of her eyes, he said, “Aw, that’s easy. Crowe’s my faire wife.”

With a lift of an eyebrow, you echoed, “Faire wife?”

“That’s right,” he continued. “We were married first thing this morning.” 

He waved a ring adorned finger at you. It was nothing special, just a silver band with black thread intertwined around it. You let your eyes wander to Crowe’s left hand, a matching band on her finger.

You’d forgotten that faire was an experience that almost demanded vulnerability, and so it was no surprise that anyone, including Nyx, could get away with being a little more lewd than normal. It would take you a moment to get into the act. It had been a long time since you could let loose like this, anyway. Crowe didn’t appear to share the sentiment from the look on her face.

You knew you were going to regret asking, but did so anyway, “Any reason _why?_ ”

“For the faire experience,” Crowe deadpanned and removed herself from under Nyx’s arm. “These two goofballs thought they were helping and made everything worse. But it’s just total coincidence that Nyx and I match.”

You pointed to the ring on her hand. “Then where did that come from?”

“A stupid joke the actors are doing to get the patrons involved.” You barely heard Nyx mutter something about him not thinking their faire marriage was stupid, but Crowe went on, “Apparently, Nyx was worried that I’m too good looking and some knight in shining armor is going to sweep me away.”

“Couldn’t have that happen,” Nyx said and jerked a thumb at Libertus. “Big guy here was hoping you’d be his faire wife.”

Libertus’ wide eyes betrayed shock over the idea, as though he were hearing it all for the first time.

You clasped your hands behind your back. “No, thanks. I actually wouldn’t mind a knight in shining armor sweeping me away.”

Libertus coughed into his hand and Nyx said, “Yeah, Amicitia would be a good match for you.”

Amicitia. You _knew_ that name, but not how it applied to the conversation.

Crowe must’ve recognized your confusion because, before you could question the name, she said, “The prince’s Shield.”

Oh.

You couldn’t stop the blush from crossing your face and turned away before it became too apparent. “Those guys aren’t even here. Stop it.”

“I think you struck a nerve,” Libertus said.

Remembering the crunched pamphlet still locked between your fingers, you quickly thought of a conversation changer and waved the wadded mess in Nyx’s face. “If you’re done being a jerk, I wanna head to the jousting ring, now.”

Whether she meant it or simply wanted to save you from more embarrassment, Crowe lightly backhanded Libertus and said, “Yeah, that’s a good idea. You gonna buy those boots? Do it so we can leave. You shop like a girl.”

The other frowned at her and looked ready to protest, but Crowe joined your side, locking your elbow in between hers. “These guys have been annoying all morning. You’d think they’re in high school again.”

Libertus squawked with denial. You ignored him.

“Well,” you said, “Nyx is pretty drunk, so I guess that explains a lot.”

“True,” Crowe nodded. “He’s been sipping from the mead bottle I brought all morning. Bastard owes me another, ‘cuz it wasn’t cheap.”

“He was telling lies about you,” you added, and grinned your troll grin at him.

As you hoped, he didn’t appear happy. “We can hear you,” Nyx said.

Crowe quirked an eyebrow, and looked genuinely insulted. “Oh, _really?_ What kind of lies?”

“You can stop now, Danny.”

But you didn’t. After all, your head still hurt something awful from the noogie attack. “He said that you were supposed to tell me that I got blacklisted from the Bazaar because of what happened last month, but, I guess it was actually _him_ who got blacklisted.”

Her trimmed brows lined the tops of her eyes quite nicely, and you wondered if you could say anything else to make her frown deeper. Given enough time, you believed that you could.

“Is that right?” she asked, glaring at him.

“And then he gave me a noogie.”

Indeed, the frown went deeper. For a moment, Nyx appeared truly uncomfortable.

Even through her displeasure, Crowe managed to change the direction of the conversation, and said, “Yes, well, the first sight of swords and costumes and they’re five years old, telling lies and drinking other people’s mead. It’s terrible.”

Nyx glared at you, but obviously meant his words for her, “I’m going to ask for a faire divorce.”

You agreed with her, enjoying the feminine company, as well as the opportunity to get back at Nyx. You hadn’t gotten to spend much time with Crowe in a while and missed it. She was your Libertus, or, rather, you felt that maybe you were hers.

\/\/\/

You cheered when the black chocobo and its rider, Sir Heymon the Twisted, smashed into the rivalrous green chocobo and Sir Sten the Maneater. Sten looked like he was an eater, all right, but not of men. You pumped a fist into the air and whistled, by accident, of course, right into Nyx’s ear. He pressed a hand to your cheek to turn your face the other way, not bothering to stifle his irritation.

“Why’s you rootin’ fer that guy?” Libertus asked as Sir Heymon pranced his chocobo around the circumference of the fenced ring. He waved and accepted all of the applause and boos with a kind of arrogance reserved for a man who harbored the “Twisted” name.

Shrugging, you replied, “He’s got an awesome name. And his armor’s badass.”

You’d never seen amethyst colored armor like his before, crowned with red and green gems around the breastplate. Even the cape was an emerald green.

“He looks like an anthropomorphic pink gar drowning in algae,” Nyx complained. “Have better taste in men, Danny.” You were quite vocal in your protest, but he ignored you and talked loudly over your rants, “Say, considering that this is faire, you need a faire name. Should I call you ‘Danica’ instead?”

You huffed. “‘Danica’ is my stage name, you dummy. You can’t use it for faire.”

Coy as always, he offered you his profile and said, “From all of the no concerts you’ve given to be able to have a stage name, you mean?”

Crowe was right. The boys were being jerks—especially Nyx, who may have been drunker than you originally gauged. It wasn’t often that he got so antagonistic. That job usually was left to you.

The announcer came over the loudspeaker to declare your dreamy Sir Heymon as the winner, the boos and applause continuing in a steady stream. Your eyes trailed the animate crowd, many dressed and not, until you locked eyes with someone you thought you knew, a tall man dressed something like a barbarian, war paint adorned across his face.

Apparently, your suspicions proved correct when his eyes widened and he offered a frantic wave. Next to him, he pushed a shorter blonde, who tumbled into a raven haired man, both cosplaying as characters from King’s Knight. The blonde fit a great thief—Toby you thought the character’s name was, but couldn’t remember. After all, you’d only just recently begun playing. But the raven haired man looked nothing like the warrior, whose name you’d forgotten entirely.

The warrior cosplayer pivoted on his feet, taking out a taller man behind him with spectacles. That fellow was the only one not dressed in garb, and so it became exceedingly easy to recognize him in his white, old man shirt and suspenders. He turned to berate the warrior, shaking a stern finger, and you vaguely heard him warn the other of the dangers of swinging himself around so haphazardly.

“Shit…” you hissed, earning the attention of the friends around you.

“That kind of profanity isn’t period,” Nyx said, adopting some weird kind of accent that almost made him sound like an improper Ignis, which was pretty damn funny, considering who you were currently staring at.

“The joust is over,” you said and hurried away from your spot at the fence. Taking Nyx by the arm, you tugged him toward you. “Best to be moving on and seeing other things, now.”

“All right, all right,” he said, although remained resistant. He even dropped the stupid accent. “What’s your hurry?”

You had no idea how to persuade him to get up off his ass and follow. You were even less certain of how to persuade him _and_ the others to leave even quicker than that. The lackadaisical, carefree atmosphere was beginning to show in them. You wouldn’t be surprised if they’d forgotten that they were still _technically_ on Glaive duty.

In your head, you remembered that it was almost time for some stupid magic show to start. You only knew because it had a scary picture of a man with a bowl haircut, white tunic and brown pants, crudely made boots, and a cloak made up of many colored patches. You really didn’t want to go, but Gladio moved past his friends and marched in some kind of happy jaunt over toward you.

“The next show at the Knight’s Stage is about to start,” you said, dropping Nyx’s arm. “How about I meet you over there?”

By now, even Crowe and Libertus were bestowing you with looks of absolute confusion. You felt defeated, and fight or flight crept up on you—except, there was Gladio.

“Flamey!” He seized you in a death hug, worse than Nyx’s, and squeezed until you were certain that all of your inner stuffing would pop out of all orifices. Crowe questioned the Shield’s nickname for you, to which Libertus shrugged. Your grunts of protestation were lost on him, but he released you before you managed to pass out. “I thought you said you were too sick to come.”

Too dizzy to answer right away, Nyx took the opportunity to answer for you.

“That seemed to be the gist of it, didn’t it?” he said. “She even had the audacity to come without us. I found her creeping around the food court, face buried in the pamphlet like she was mesmerized by some skin mag.”

All at once, your dizziness dissipated and you shot a glare you hoped would kill. Nyx’s grin could’ve split his face, and his jolly intensified once Ignis and the two King’s Knight cosplayers joined Gladio’s side.

“You really _are_ drunk,” you snapped. “You didn’t tell me you were coming, either.”

Unfazed by the outburst, Gladio mirrored Nyx’s grin, and turned his eyes to his friends. Undoubtedly, Prompto was the Toby of King’s Knight, especially with his red point-and-shoot aimed at you.

Before he could snap a photo, Crowe pushed a hand against the lens of the camera and said, “Have some class, please.”

Puzzled, you sought her eyes, which were already on yours. Ignis, Noctis, and Libertus had already turned away, and Nyx closed his eyes, accompanied with a, “Woah, boy, Danny,” which was only beaten out by a “Yeah!” by Gladio.

You followed his eyes down to your chest, where one of your breasts had peeked up a little too high during Gladio’s hug attack, a bright, pink bud peeking back at you.

“We’ll be right back,” Crowe hastily announced, tugging the bodice up over your boob. She seized your arm and led you away.

\/\/\/

Fortunately, an open handicapped stall awaited you inside of your most hated Community Center bathrooms, more commonly known as the “Stone Privies” in the case of the Fantasy Faire. You groaned as Crowe fussed over your bodice, restringing and lacing it back together. She sighed and shook her head after you complained, for the third time, that the bodice was too tight.

“It’s as I feared,” she said, stepping back from you to observe her handiwork. “Your bodice is too small.”

The revelation came as a nightmare—as though someone just told you that Le Spectre split up.

“No way.” You grabbed your bodice and jammed your breasts into them. No good—the pressure against your ribs and underarms were just too much, like someone was jabbing you in the side with a stick. “It fit fine a little while ago.”

Crowe pressed her lips together. “Your body probably hadn’t had the chance to adjust to the boning in the bodice. But it’s definitely too small, sweetie. Did you buy it here? Let’s go and exchange it.”

“I can’t,” you explained and almost smoothed your face with your hands until you remembered that you were wearing makeup. “I bought it online.”

She flinched ever so slightly. What, did she think you were incapable? It wasn’t like you hadn’t bought clothes online before.

Slowly, she asked, “Are you sure you got the right measurements? The bodice measurements are a little different than normal body measurements.”

You knew that she’d know a lot about this, given that she wore a lot of bodices, especially outside of work. She could make any casual garment look sexy, and you admired that most about her frame. Still you didn’t quite understand what she meant about different and normal body measurements. Measurements were measurements, weren’t they?

“Were you measuring for the finished garment?” Crowe asked, and then stopped, apparently noting your confusion. “Never mind. We’ll just get you another one for the weekend.”

“But bodices are expensive,” you said, still fidgeting with your own. No matter how you adjusted yourself, you could feel your back rubbing raw. “I spent the last of my paycheck on this costume.”

One side of her lips tugged down and she turned to leave the stall. “I’ll help you pay for it. No sense in going through the rest of faire looking like a hussy.”

“But isn’t that what faire’s supposed to be about?” you joked, still trying to interpret her meaning of “help you pay for it.” It wasn’t like she made a lot of money as a Glaive either, and her spending any amount of money on one for you would make you feel as bad as the time Nyx bought the gaming console you’d been eyeing, just so you had somewhere to crash and play video games.

“Not this time,” she said, holding the stall door open for you to pass through. “Let’s browse the vendors for a bit and see if we can find a nice, affordable one for you.” As you made your way toward the exit, she asked, “So why’s the Shield calling you ‘Flamey?’”

“Been trying to figure that out myself,” you replied. “He’s got a whole arsenal of them for me, stemming from 'Hotcakes' to 'Custy.'”

Her feelings toward the matter shined in the form of a blank stare.

Shrugging, you said, “Yeah. I know.”

\/\/\/

You felt fortunate that no one, save Gladio, commented on your wardrobe malfunction upon your return. Crowe shut the Shield down, quickly, and suggested wandering for a bit. Prompto and Noctis were more than willing; they’d seen a sword booth back toward the front with a “super cool insignia and pewter design,” according to the blonde. Nyx and Libertus seemed to silently understand Crowe’s meaning, and Gladio joined the conversation between Noctis and Prompto, giving some pretty nifty explanations about weapons, both battle ready and display worthy.

It surprised you that your Glaive friends were willing to hang with the prince and his retainers, and that none carried a stiff air about it. Surely, they knew that Prince Noctis walked side-by-side next to Libertus, and Ignis followed in Crowe’s step. Perhaps, at least Crowe and Libertus, anyway, they had had more to drink than you thought to be able to tolerate the royalty, but, either way, you felt grateful. This was the way you had wanted it to be at the Candace Hill Fruit Festival, back when Nyx had been adamant about not going.

Hopefully, it just took a bit of warming up to get used to each other.

Ignis avoided eye contact with you, which left you wondering. Maybe he still hated you. After all, you snagged his jacket and made no real attempt to return it, and it was your fault, indirect as it may have been, that he ended up getting involved in your search party.

Bah.

That was almost a month ago. He couldn’t be holding onto it for that long. If he was, then he was an idiot. No, you told yourself. It had to be because he had been subjected to the unflattering display of your released nipple. Best to make things better.

You fell in step next to him and accidentally-not-accidentally bumped his shoulder, earning his attention. He offered you a quizzical brow, but at least it wasn’t his typical glare. Perhaps that was an improvement.

“Yes?” he asked.

You had no idea. Maybe you’d start with small talk.

Pinching the fabric of his shirt from off his arm, you said, “This isn’t period.”

He unwrapped your fingers from his shirt and took a subtle step away from you. Well, probably what _he_ considered to be a subtle step. It came off as pretty damn obvious as far as you were concerned.

“I believe that was the intent,” he said.

“That’s boring, though,” you countered and then reminded yourself to watch your tongue.

He wasn’t Nyx or someone who was used to your antagonism. He’d read it wrong and, knowing your luck, you’d both end up in some kind of knock-down, rock-slinging, mud fight. You’d lose your bodice in the process, and he his dignity after you managed to smear as much mud over his glasses and fancy clothes as possible. Jerk.

Wait, scratch that. He wasn’t being a jerk, yet. Calm down, you told yourself. Wait until the mud fight happened before thinking such unhappy thoughts.

When he didn’t reply, you added, “None of the actors will play with a mundane. They’ll even ignore you and if we get wrapped up with one, they’ll talk to everyone in costume and pretend you don’t exist.”

You didn’t expect your slippery slope of a tangent to have any effect on him, even though everything you said was true. The Fantasy Faire was a tightknit group for fairegoers only and ignoring a mundane was their way of guilt-tripping them into buying costumes as a way to involve them. Dirty, sneaky tactics indeed. Now that you thought about it, what you were doing to Ignis was no different than that.

Oh well. He deserved it.

“Is that right?” he asked, genuinely thoughtful. You almost figured he was screwing with you, but then he said, “Is that the nature of the performers?”

You shrugged. “It’s their way of getting everyone involved. I mean, come on, you don’t feel the slightest bit out of place between all of us? Even Noct is dressed up.”

His nervous tic kicked in as he adjusted his glasses and averted his eyes from you. “I’m really only here because he is. I’m sure you’ve seen the other Crownsguard and Glaives walking about.”

You hadn’t seen the other Crownsguard and Glaives walking about. And was it really only because Noctis was here? Geez, that must’ve been a bummer. But Noctis didn’t appear to notice, or, if he did, didn’t care. If you knew that you had the entire royal militia and your retainers hovering around simply because _you_ were outside the castle walls, you thought that you’d go mad.

You tried a different tactic, “Even more the reason to join the fray. If you’re the only one not in garb, it will make it easy for assassins to spot you, and then him. Best to have a disguise if you ask me.”

He almost stopped walking. “You’ve had a lot of time to think about this, haven’t you?”

No, you wanted to tell him. You were just that good at coming up with witty retorts from off the top of your head. But you said, “I’m just trying to keep the prince safe, like you.”

A third, most _unwelcomed_ voice cut in, “And what do you plan to do, Danny? Ninja Dust Mop the assassins to death?” Nyx glanced at you from over his shoulder. “Leave the safeguarding to the _real_ hero, got it?”

You quickened your pace until you were behind him and flung his cape over his head. He belted out a, “Hey!” and you snickered as he whirled around, crashed straight into Crowe, who slammed into Gladio. The momentary distraction gave you pause long enough to decide that ducking into the hat booth directly next to you would be a wise decision. No matter what, you knew you’d be feeling a Glaive’s Vengeance as soon as Nyx freed himself.

\/\/\/

As badly as Nyx wanted to second noogie the shit out of you for making him look stupid in front of the prince and his retainers, Crowe called you off limits until you found yourself a new bodice. There were none of those in the hat booth, so off you went into the next. Prompto stopped at a bone pin booth that sold witty sayings and memes you’d seen on the internet and he showed off a rather nifty one that had a plated gold spinner in the middle with “Which mascot are you?” embroidered around the circumference of the pin. The pin was divided into four parts, pictures of a moogle, chocobo, cactuar, and tonberry in each section. He kept spinning it, audibly praying for the chocobo, but got tonberry four out of the five times.

Gladio and Noctis found another weapons booth, although Noctis claimed that the stand up front had a better selection. Nyx and Libertus collected money from you and Crowe and made their way to the ale stand, but you doubted that Nyx needed more alcohol, what with his snarky attitude. While Crowe searched the booths for costume tops, you and Ignis—at separate times, of course—perused the wares of a jewelry booth. Naturally, he’d gone there first, so you hoped he wouldn’t think you were stalking him.

Because you weren’t. You had better things to do.

But you couldn’t keep your eyes from a fairy pendant, fashioned from silver and some kind of white shell. You turned it over again in your hand, but weren’t willing to fork over the eighty-five bones for it. Not when you had a bodice to replace.

Your eyes peeked up at Ignis, who observed some kind of obsidian brooch. It definitely didn’t seem his style, but you’d seen him in black most days, and he donned Insomnia’s skull necklace well. It looked almost as detailed as the one on your custodian uniform. Except yours was pretty small compared to the “Citadel Employee” scrawled across it. His gaze met yours when you stared for too long.

However, he had a different opinion of things. “Am I that out of place that you continue to shoot fervent glances at me?”

You jolted. Huh? What? “I’m sorry?” you managed, mind still reeling at his words.

He moved from the brooch to another piece of jewelry dangling from a necklace rack. “First, you follow me into the booth, then I find myself under your intense gaze. Any particular reason why?”

You fumbled for words, but it all came out as a scoff. “I was most _certainly_ not following you. And don’t flatter yourself—you’re not all that to want to keep staring at.”

Your mouth snapped shut as soon as the last sound left your lips and wondered what in Eos had provoked you to such animosity. You hadn’t even started drinking, yet. Nyx had done enough of that for the both of you. Ignis’ stony gaze remained on you far longer than you wanted, and he dropped the necklace from his fingers.

“Well, isn’t that the likewise truth?” he said. Then his gaze directed to just over your shoulder. “Oh, hello, marshal.”

The deep rumble of a chuckle caused you to turn on your heels. Only a few feet from you was Cor Leonis, dressed as you’d seen him before, minus the “Little Phantoms” pin. His crossed arms shifted, as did his attention, when you spun to meet him. Even though you’d only met him briefly at the soccer game, he still beheld the same hard features. So, when a smile replaced his trademark frown, you weren’t sure what to think.

“Harsh,” the marshal said, his eyes moving between you and Ignis. “I don’t think I’ve heard such poisonous words since His Highness’ last training session with me. I wonder where he learned such a colorful vocabulary.”

Highness. The word swirled around you. Was he referring to the King or Noctis? If it was Noctis, you found it strange to refer to someone you knew personally in such a way. Of course, the opposite had been true the night you’d met the Prince of Insomnia, drunk off his ass in his Shield’s second pad.

Ignis moved around the stall table opposite from you. “I’d put my wager on Gladio, if you’re inclined to know. Do you need something?”

Cor’s attention left you and he focused on the other. The way they closed the space and put their backs to you made you realize that this was a conversation not meant to include you.

“Not really,” the marshal said. “I haven’t seen His Majesty yet, and when I saw you, I thought you’d be with him.”

“I was with him up until a few minutes ago. He’s with Gladio across the way.” Ignis pointed to the weapons booth.

That prompted a noise from the back of Cor’s throat. “As if he needs more weapons. And none of those will cut through anything thicker than butter.”

“I think it’s the sheer principle of glamour,” Ignis said before pointing again. “Ah, there they are, in the crowd right next to the black and red leather wrapped pole arm.”

The marshal nodded. “I see them now. He evaded everyone this morning; I had no idea what he was dressed as. It would’ve taken a little longer to find them.”

“Shall I tell him you’re looking for him?” Ignis asked.

“Don’t bother. He’ll just get upset like he always does when he thinks I’m ruining his fun.”

“Well, you _do_ spy on him quite often.”

That earned a titter from you, and Cor returned his attention to your amused form. “Something funny about that?”

“It doesn’t take much to crack this one,” Ignis answered before you could. “She finds even the most inappropriate scenario to be a barrel of laughs, such as flooding one’s personal office, attempting murder-suicide in a utility vehicle, smashing one’s face in a bathroom—”

That was it. You were _never_ returning this fool’s jacket.

“Oh my gods, that happened over a _month_ ago,” you snapped with a stomp of your foot. You hadn’t meant to, but your hip caught the table and bumped it, knocking trinkets, the necklace rack, and a metal tankard over.

Luckily, the shopkeeper was on the other side of the tent, not minding his own wares. It still didn’t make you look very good in the adviser and marshal’s eyes, though.

You hoped it was amusement dripping from Cor’s words, laughing with you instead of _at_ you as he said, “I see what you mean. A regular bull in a Tenebrae shop.”

Huffing, you moved to leave, but Ignis flicked a wrist at you.

“Stay. I’m going across the way.” And he did just that.

Left with only Cor in the jewelry booth, you felt the slightest hint of embarrassment creeping up on you, like mold. You hadn’t meant to cause a scene, especially with the marshal there. One more person who thought you were a wacko for the books. That thought only strengthened when his eyes flickered back to yours.

“I see that your reputation precedes you,” he said.

Inhaling, you held the air in your lungs for a few seconds, then released. “I don’t even want to know what that’s supposed to mean.”

He stepped back to let you pass. You didn’t leave, however, since Ignis was only right across the way at the weapon’s booth. And none of your Glaive friends were in sight. They sure were taking their sweet time. Perhaps they were drinking their ale _and_ the one you’d paid for without you. Nyx would for sure.

“Exactly what it sounds like,” the marshal replied after a moment. “I knew who you were the moment I saw you outside the bathrooms at the soccer tournament.”

Oh. That explained the long, unjustified look of him wanting to punch you in the face. It had felt that way, anyway. You couldn’t stop the sigh before it fell from your mouth.

“Even the Immortal thinks I’m a saboteur,” you mumbled, Ignis’ words swimming around in your head. It bummed you. You thought that you two were making progress toward a friendly recovery. “Maybe I should’ve stayed home.”

He crossed his arms again and leaned back. “Give him time, if it bothers you that much. Ignis isn’t unreasonable, you know.”

“To others, maybe,” you mumbled. “I’ll never be able to work B District again.”

He shrugged, “Well, not if you leave my training room floor like that again, no.” You paled. Eyes finding his, he only shrugged again, face stoic. “Don’t act surprised. I utilize the facility, too, you know.”

You pulled your hands over your face, only realizing too late about your makeup. That was twice in less than an hour. You just weren’t used to wearing makeup anymore. You hoped that you hadn’t turned yourself into a clown in front of the marshal, although you figured that that was the least of your concerns.

“Ignis and Gladio did an impressive job of trying to cover for you, by the way, but the recruits they’d been training that day unwittingly gave you up.” Your face shot up at his words, trying to process them. “Maybe it was only a month ago to you, like Ignis’ office, but those kinds of things last a little longer to other people. You’d do best to keep that in mind.”

You wanted to tell him that it wasn’t your fault that the training room floor had gotten all marked up. If Bosco had only maintained his equipment properly. But, like trying to justify yourself to Ignis, it felt moot. You wondered if the training room floor had ever gone back to normal, but felt too mortified to ask.

“Ignis did that, huh?” came from your lips instead.

Cor nodded. “Sure did. He doesn’t lie without good cause, mind you, so it came as quite the surprise. Keep that in mind, too.”

Guess you were keeping a lot of things in mind. You wondered what Ignis’ “good cause” could’ve been.

“Try to have fun, anyway,” he said and looked out into the open strip. “And don’t worry so much.”

Your laugh came out wryer than you would’ve liked. “I’ll try.”

You noticed that the marshal’s eyes were on Noctis, Gladio and Ignis observing a longsword in his hands. You wondered if he had bought it, despite finding the supply of wares to be inferior to the other stall’s.

“Yeah,” Cor said before turning to leave down the crowded strip. “Me, too.”

\/\/\/

Crowe returned shortly after the marshal’s departure and did a spectacular job of seizing your arm and dragging you down the strip, all while never spilling a drop of ale from the tankard in her other hand.

“I found the perfect costume booth,” she said, never looking back at you. She weaved both of you between stagnant groups of people, making a perfect beeline down the faire strip.

You, on the other hand, were focused on the drink in her hand and wondered where the hell yours was. You even voiced as much.

“Nyx has it,” she said. Of course he did. “Don’t worry,” she added, as though reading your worry without even having to see it. “He’s not drinking any of it. I told him I’d sock him if I came back and even so much of a whiff had been sniffed out of it.”

That caused you to giggle.

Your eyes wandered to specific sights, such as the Knight’s Stage, where the coat of many colors magic show was taking place, and to the food court next to that. A dynoaevis leg sounded good right about now, but doubted that Crowe would be willing to take the detour. Instead, she pushed you into the large costume booth with one hand and asked that the shopkeeper, who also doubled as the seamstress, take care of your needs.

There seemed to be no problem with that request, and you were led to the back of the large tent booth, Bloom Me Down, with a picture of white bloomers on the sign. Colorful racks and racks of bodices, chemises, skirts, tunics, pants, and just about anything you could think of lined the walls. She reached for her measuring tape and took you to the makeshift dressing room—a small, detached room outside of the tent. You removed your bodice when she asked, and tried to pull your faire blouse tighter around you.

It was all well and good until she asked you to spread your arms, and the blouse drooped down over you, revealing your naked breasts in a less than valiant display. Of course, the seamstress didn’t care.

“I’ve got some nice bodice tops in your size,” she said. “I even made some blouses to match. Would you like me to bring you both types?”

You had much rather go through the racks to see them all for yourself, but figured that it would be pointless if you ended up in the same situation that you started with. You agreed, and listed off some of your favorite colors in hopes that she would bring you something tolerable as a substitute. It was a real bummer. You really liked the bodice you bought online.

She was gone for almost five minutes when she left you the first time, and returned with only the bodices to start. She told you that she was going to come back with the blouses, but welcomed you to flip through what she’d brought in the meantime.

“I have a couple other customers in the booth, too,” she said. “My husband is helping them at present, but since I’m the seamstress, if they have questions, it may detain me for a moment.”

“No problem,” you said and fingered the first bodice after she went away.

It had a beautiful design that almost looked like a vine you’d find in a garden. The next hung a little lower off your butt, like coat tails, and you enjoyed how it changed your feminine form. The third left you looking a tad shapeless, but you fell in love with the fourth design. You hated having to choose through clothes. You wanted to buy them all.

“Here are some blouses for you to mix and match with,” the seamstress said, returning a few minutes later. As she had warned, it took her longer to return than on the first visit. “I have a couple more that I think would look lovely on you, but one of the gentlemen is being a little fussy and asking questions that my husband can’t answer. If you’ll give me a moment, I’ll be back with the other blouses.”

“Take your time,” you said and removed your own blouse when she left.

The cold air pricked the hair on your naked skin and hardened your nipples. You felt slightly uncomfortable being out in the open, with only a red cloth acting as four walls around you as music played in the vicinity, children laughed and screamed, and patrons buzzed by. Still, you busied yourself with the beautiful bodices and blouses, holding them up in front of you and then over yourself while gazing at the full length mirror.

You tried on a blouse with flowing sleeves, but the elastic band felt strange at your elbows. You pulled it over your head and hung it back on the hanger. The fabric of the next one felt nicer, like a soft cotton, the split sleeves close to the design of your own blouse. You thought about trying it against another bodice, but wanted to wait until the seamstress returned to help you tie it. Even with all of the video tutorials, you knew you still sucked at lacing them.

Meanwhile, you hung the blouse you liked and looked at the third one. The design around the neck immediately deterred you, and you pulled it off your body and placed it in front of the first rejected blouse. Before you could pull the fourth blouse from off the hanger, the flap leading back into the main tent rustled behind you.

“Say,” you began and turned your attention back to the only blouse you liked, “I was wondering if you would help me lace one of these bodices. I really like—”

Your eyes found wide emerald orbs, but those orbs were most definitely not on yours. Ignis stood there, several tunics and pants in his arms, his eyes on your neck area. Even though the cloth could be mistaken for the red glow to his face, you doubted that it could make it change that much. His breath hitched and he stumbled back into the red cloth, jostling it quite a bit.

You were caught between screaming, covering your breasts with your hands, and trying to keep the cloth wall from tumbling down around you to avoid a much larger peep show. When the wall appeared to be in no danger of falling from his staggered movements, you settled on the first two, and barely heard his hastily constructed, “The gentleman said no one was in here!” over your eardrum shattering shrill. He teetered back again, and the seamstress flew in through the flap.

“What in Astrals’ names?” escaped from her lips before Ignis darted past her as a blur, dropping the clothes on his way out. The breeze he created lifted the cloth several inches up from the ground as he went.

You, on the other hand, didn’t stop screaming for a long while, even though everything and everyone around you—song, dance, cheer, laughter, and what-have-you had long since ceased. Your arms tightened around yourself, and, although the seamstress did her best to console you, bless her heart, all you could think was that the gods were most certainly laughing at you if they could let Ignis Scientia, of _all_ people stumble in on you, half naked.

\/\/\/

Crowe verbally dropkicked Ignis the moment he returned out front. You knew because you could hear her call him all sorts of things, even though he pleaded and denied them. Despite the eternal humiliation you felt at having been interloped upon by the royal adviser, a small part of you internally snickered at his misfortune. How did _he_ enjoy being accused of something he hadn’t meant to do? You wanted to ask him if that humility tasted good.

He wasn’t the only one getting a stern tongue lashing. The seamstress made quite the public display of anger toward her husband, demanding to know how he could’ve _not_ known that someone was in the dressing room after she had _specifically_ told him she was helping a girl with bodices and blouses in the back. His weak excuse: he’d thought his wife had said you’d left. How was he to know? Although a lame way to slither out of trouble, you tried to bridge the peace between everyone by buying the blouse you liked, and the bodice with the coat tails. As promised, Crowe helped pay half of the expense, even though you told her not to.

Ignis dejectedly made his way back into the dressing room, helped by the seamstress’ husband, neither involving themselves in the conversation again. Both Crowe and the seamstress chatted with each other about the _nerve_ of some men doing whatever it took to see a girl naked.

“What happened to courtship?” the seamstress asked as she finished ringing you up. “Back in my day, men were gentlemen.”

If only to keep yourself out of the conversation, you refrained from mentioning that Ignis Scientia was supposed to be said gentleman, even going as far to say that he was a royal adviser, hand to the king, chamberlain, retainer, all these good things and more. And, now, you could add peeping tom to that list.

Gladio arrived a few minutes later with Prompto, Noctis, and a young girl by his side. He introduced the girl, dressed as an archer in a green cloak, as his little sister, Iris. She appeared pleased to meet your acquaintance, and asked if she could tag along in whatever you were all planning to do next. Her eyes lingered on Noctis at the question, but he appeared too enraptured by the new blade he’d bought—the same one you and the marshal had seen him with at the weapons booth. As you studied her, you recognized her as the young girl from the soccer game that Reimund had escorted, along with the older brunette, in the utility vehicle. Wow, so this was Iris, the avid square dancer, huh? She looked and acted nothing like her brother.

You believed that you two could become fast friends, despite how much younger she was than you.

“Nice top, Flamey,” Gladio told you, pointing to the new purchase in your hands. Crowe said that she’d help you put it on back in the stone privies after you all left. “Think I like the old one better, though.”

“You would,” Crowe cut in, more bite to her words than you’d thought she’d have.

It caused Gladio’s mouth to snap shut, and you waited with them for Ignis, even though you had nothing in particular to say to him. All that it had become was another topic to avoid. You snatched your beer from Nyx’s hand when he and Libertus showed up, each armed with a gigantic dynoaevis leg.

“Thanks, boys, now where’s our share?” came Crowe’s question. Her eyes moved between the two with quite the glower.

Libertus wasn’t keen on sharing, but Nyx rolled his eyes as he offered Crowe a bite, and then you. It was just as delicious as you thought that it would be, the crisp, barbecued skin crunching in between your teeth. The meat was cooked to perfection, and you took another bite, much to his chagrin. As Crowe promised, your beer appeared untouched and you needed it more than ever.

“We met a nice gal in the food court line,” Nyx said. “She’s dressed as a spiracorn—her bottom half anyway.”

“You were too busy looking at’ter furry top,” Libertus chimed in and laughed.

You and Crowe offered disgusted faces to each other. Men, you internally vocalized, but she had no problem saying it aloud, followed by a scolding on Nyx’s pre-gaming. He went on to talk about Miss Spiracorn, whom had dubbed herself, “Horny Girl” as a pun to the spiracorn horn on her head. You figured he did this mostly to agitate Crowe, and, boy, did she become such. He complimented Horny Girl’s creativity in costume making, from her shiny horn, to the stiletto hooves. Eventually, Crowe left the booth, taking you in tow to switch out your blouse and bodice. Both men, and Gladio, asked where you were going and where they should meet you. Crowe didn’t answer, and you didn’t have the chance to reply.

\/\/\/

You had to admit, once Crowe brought you in front of the bathroom mirror, that the substitute bodice had been a good choice. Not only did it feel much better, it looked really good on your frame. You almost felt like faire nobility. Now, all you needed was a pretty hat to complete the costume. Unfortunately, that would have to wait until next faire, as your spending had almost maxed out, and that was _with_ Crowe paying half.

She mentioned a country dance show she wanted to go to at the King’s Stage, and text Nyx to let him know that you both were headed that way. You were intrigued, and wondered how country dancing varied from the square dancing, and if you would get to participate, too. The country dance was a style native to early Leide, and, according to the performers, the dances were easy to teach. You were had at “early Leide,” and Crowe at “easy to teach.”

Nyx said he’d meet you both there after another stop to the ale stand. He also made mention in his text—more notably to you than anyone else—that Gladio and the retainers were also coming. Then, in a separate text that he could’ve sent directly to you, but chose to pass it through Crowe, _**“The hell is wrong with Scientia, Danny?”**_

Crowe stared at her screen, but kept it tilted just enough for you to see it. Your eyes narrowed before you could mentally will them to. What in the Six would make him think that the way Ignis was acting was _your_ fault? How presumptuous.

“What do you want me to tell him?” she asked, but kept her eyes fastened to the words before her.

“Nothing,” you replied after careful thought. Nothing seemed like an appropriate answer.

No, you decided. Best to let the royal adviser squirm under all of his anguish and mental scarring at seeing your tits. Served the jerk right, even if it _did_ earn him a free peep show. Although, and it marred your pride ever so slightly, you felt that that peep show served to leave him more distraught rather than enticed. Bah, whatever. You were sexy and you knew it. You couldn’t help it if the man had no taste. It made it all the more strange for him to be at a faire where, undoubtedly, pleasure occurred, _despite_ him claiming to have only come for Noctis.

“You sure?” Crowe asked.

Momentarily thrown off by what she was asking, only to remember Nyx’s text, you said, “Positive. No one needs to know.”

Crowe slid her phone into her pouch and picked up your beer and hers that had been on the bathroom sink. Passing it to you, she chinked your cup and said, “I agree.”

You really needed to invest in a tankard, you realized, as you sipped the amber liquid inside.

She knew the way to the King’s Stage, and you followed, keeping her bunched, red skirt in your sights. Even though the show didn’t start for twenty minutes, her anxiousness wasn’t lost on you. She weaved in between flocks of stagnant people, and one mundane bumped shoulders with you by accident. Nearing one o’clock, the patronage at the faire had certainly picked up.

The sound of your name stopped you where you walked, and Crowe noticed very quickly that you were no longer behind her. Glancing right, you pursed your lips together at the sight of Quinzi and Ancil, both gathered around the bed of the enclosed utility vehicle. Neither looked happy, and your boss’ cheeks were flushed red.

Calling for time off to attend the Fantasy Faire had been one thing—being caught by your boss directly was another. However, his woes did not seem to be concerned with the location of your vacation request.

“Gear shift snapped off,” Quinzi announced when you were in hearing range, and he patted the bed of the utility vehicle.

“Sorry,” Ancil said, although, the way he said it made you believe that it hadn’t been his first time apologizing. “I didn’t think I tugged on it that hard.”

Quinzi kept his attention on you. “Listen, we can’t leave, and I sent Chadwick back up toward the Citadel almost twenty minutes ago to get the 4x2 so that one of us could go back up with him to hitch the trailer, bring it back down here, and get this thing off park property.” You tried not to laugh as the image of your boss and coworkers having to push the immovable utility vehicle up onto the trailer _without_ you, but the beginnings of the snort betrayed the attempt. If Quinzi noticed, he didn’t say anything. “Obviously, he hasn’t returned. Probably hanging around the food court if I know him. Anyway, the company phone’s dead, and Ancil doesn’t have his. I think Ermin should be somewhere around the joust, picking up trash. Could you send him my way if you see him?”

You agreed, if only it would get you away from anything having to do with work sooner. Even on vacation, you couldn’t get away from it, it seemed. Still, once you rounded the corner, behind a jewelry and cosmogony shop, you burst out into rolling laughter. For once, the accident hadn’t involved you. You couldn’t decide which was funnier: that fact, or the general idea that the gear shift had snapped on the utility vehicle. Both were equally hysterical. Maybe it was because Crowe wasn’t a custodian, but she didn’t partake in your amusement.

“We’re going to miss the show,” she said, followed by a heavy sigh. “Why’d you say yes?”

“If I hadn’t, he would’ve made _me_ go get the other utility vehicle.” Patting her arm, you added, “The show doesn’t start for another fifteen, right? We’ll make it.”

“Yes, but I had wanted a good seat. Who knows how fast the show will fill up?”

Her eyes kept ahead in the direction of, what you assumed to be, the stage, although her feet were pointed toward the joust. Gingerly taking her by the arms, you turned her body until she faced the road completely. Surprisingly enough, she let you do it.

“Save me a seat. I won’t be long,” you said.

She glanced sideways at you, but didn’t appear opposed to the idea. “You sure?”

“Positive.” Your legs were already moving toward the joust as you called back, “Make sure they don’t start the audience participation without me.”

That earned you a laugh—finally.

“But, you don’t even know where the King’s Stage is,” she reminded you.

Oh. Fair point.

She gave you quick and simple directions, ones that you felt that you could follow easily enough, and then waved as she walked away.

You loved Crowe dearly, but she sometimes reminded you of a female version of Nyx: motherly, anxious, and antagonistic when provoked. Gods, you adored them. Crowe was a few years older than you, but her wisdom belied her age. Perhaps Galahd had something to do with it. You still couldn’t imagine a place like Pryham burning to the ground. Still, Crowe kept in good spirits, and, being closer to your age than Libertus and Nyx, you felt the sisterly friendship and female alliance connection between you. Especially when Nyx was being Nyx, like when you’d gotten locked in the bathroom. And today, when he was undoubtedly drunk and being rude.

Ermin was exactly where Quinzi said he’d be, using the same 4x6 utility vehicle that you’d gone sailing through. It had a new windshield, and the clips holding it looked more durable than the last. You were grateful for the shitty clips before. If they had been like the ones now, your face would’ve splatted like a soggy Killer Tomato against the windshield, no doubt, pleasing Lambert immensely.

A grabber in one hand and a large trash bag in the other, Ermin plucked large pieces of garbage from the ground that people had missed when, hopefully, tossing it into the can. He saw you and waved the grabber in the air.

“You suck, you know that?” he told you when you approached. “Since you called out, we get to work twice as hard.”

“Learn to take vacation sometime, then,” you retorted and shrugged. “I’m having the time of my life here, drinking, eating, looking cute in front of everyone who passes by, and not having to deal with the fact that the gear shift snapped off of the 4x4.”

The grabber wilted in Ermin’s hand. “What?”

You nodded, beaming. “Actually, Quinzi’s looking for you.”

The skepticism showed through like words on the page of a book. “You’re kidding, right?”

Since he didn’t appear keen in sharing in your amusement of the broken utility vehicle, you swallowed your smile and pointed in the direction in which you had come. “Quinzi’s over there with Ancil and wants you to meet him there.”

Ermin’s groan went on for a lengthy ten seconds. It made you feel guilty for rubbing it in in the first place, but you tried not to let it ruin your good time. He could’ve called in if he had wanted to, too.

He slapped the trash grabber against the metal trash can, resulting in a hollow clank, and grumbled, “Great.”

“Sorry,” you replied, for lack of anything better to say.

As he left you to return to the utility vehicle, an older gentleman sporting a cane hobbled toward him. Next to him was a child, no older than ten or eleven, if you had to guess, and dressed as a little knight. It amused you. You turned heel just as the older man asked Ermin where the King’s Stage was. If you weren’t already in a hurry yourself, you would’ve taken them along. But, as you made the imaginary equation up in your head, the older man’s handicap would make you miss the dancing, and you couldn’t have that. Besides, Ermin’s directions were nearly flawless, even if they _did_ direct the two on a scenic voyage around the joust, the gigantic wooden, chocobo children could ride, and several booths that could’ve been bypassed, according to Crowe’s directions, had they just followed you.

Oh well.

\/\/\/

When it turned out that their way had actually been faster, due to someone’s unforeseen accident that involved paramedics and a trip to the hospital, you chalked it up to the fact that the gods had, in fact, been displeased with your decision to _not_ walk the handicapped man and the young knight child to the King’s Stage, and punished you for it. You got caught up in the rubbernecking crowd observing the severely drunk patron suffering from dehydration as he was loaded up onto the stretcher, Pelna and Quinzi in the middle of the action, making sure that everyone stayed back.

Ancil and Ermin were in the backdrop, struggling to push the utility vehicle up onto a metal trailer that Chadwick had finally arrived on scene with. He looked pretty useless, sitting in the driver’s seat of the Green Convertible, staring up at all of the beautiful trees around him. Eventually, Ermin screamed for him to get his ass out and help push.

You supposed that it was true, and you could backtrack to the joust and around the gigantic, wooden chocobo, but Luche and the Firestarter Glaives commanded the crowd behind you, directing the patrons around the scene of the accident. Yes, you knew, this was punishment indeed.

By the time you reached the King’s Stage, the routine country dancing had ended, and the crowd participation began. Two older actors dressed like jesters clapped at the crowd, encouraging volunteers to engage in the dance to _Joscelin’s Farewell._ You bolted down the strip toward the stage just as Crowe lifted herself from her seat, yanking Nyx by the arm.

“Wonderful,” one of the jesters, the female, you realized, clapped even harder when they approached the wooden stage, a painted backdrop of an old time castle wall catching your attention.

You groaned. Only when you found yourself in the middle of the aisle, surrounded by straw bales and two dozen seated patrons, did you slow yourself to a halt. Crowe and Nyx were the first volunteers up on stage, and both met your eyes the moment you arrived.

“Did I miss it all?” you asked, ignoring the two jesters on each side of you.

“Almost,” Crowe said and motioned you up onto the stage.

Your eyes looked left and right at the jesters, who returned the puzzled stare, and then you scanned the crowd. “Are we doing audience participation now?”

“Come now, come now,” the male jester herded you up onto the stage, much to your surprise. Despite your involuntary rudeness in barging in during the show, he kept up the act rather well. “We need more volunteers. Don’t worry, we’ll teach you the dances. Up on the stage ye get.”

You stumbled over the first two steps, then walked up the last two, your Glaive friends watching your less than stellar grace. From the other side of the stage, you recognized Iris, leading the small knight you had seen before, with the older gentleman, by the hand. Upon further squinting, you realized that you knew the boy—from the soccer tournament, if you had to make an educated guess. Even beneath his plastic helmet and raised visor, you knew that he was the one Gladio had paid special attention to.

Which meant that he had to be the grandson of the Amicitia’s retainer, the older gentlemen that you had refused to direct to the King’s Stage. The punishment by the gods was becoming incessantly clearer.

“Sorry, Danny,” Nyx said and shrugged, drawing your attention to him. He swayed on his feet, and you wondered how drunk he really was. If you knew one thing about him, though, it was that he could hold his alcohol almost as well as Libertus. “Crowe asked first, and she’s the faire wife, you know.”

At first, you weren’t sure what he was referring to, but as several more couples filed up onto the stage at the ushering of the jesters, you realized that you were the only one without a partner.

Where was Gladio to save you when you needed him?

Eyes surveying the seated patrons, you zoned in on Libertus directly in front, his legs crossed at the ankles.

Flapping your wrist at him, you said, “Come be my partner.”

One side of his lips turned up as he shook his head. “Sorry, my two left feet can’t handle it.” As if to clarify his meaning, he held up his tankard, which you surmised to be rather full.

You hoped that your glare worked wonders in silently declaring his betrayal toward you. He played off your anger with a chuckle and lifted the tankard to his lips. You stared as he took his time drinking, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each deep gulp.

The jesters called everyone to attention, instructing each partner to stand across from each other in two horizontal lines, men on one side and women on the other. Iris and Talcott stood three partners down from Crowe and Nyx, you somewhere in between those three, looking lost and very much out of place.

Where were Gladio and the others? You were certain that Crowe had mentioned them tagging along earlier. Perhaps they got bored with the dancing. You knew it wasn’t Noctis’ thing, and Ignis was probably dying from humiliation because of the incident earlier. Perhaps the others were consoling his manly pride and dignity.

The female jester approached you to ask if you could stand off to the side, since the stage was almost full and no singleton left to be your partner. Discouraged, you obliged until a hand came upon your back and gently pushed you in line. Eyes darting up, you barely recognized the man beneath the forest green tunic and woodsy colored pants. 

Ignis wouldn’t meet your eyes, even as he asked, “Could I convince you to be my partner for this dance?”

Alarms went off in your head, and your lips immediately formed the word, “No,” but the male jester lifted his viol and ran the bow across the strings as the female jester instructed all partners to take a step back from each other, but to please mind the edge of the stage, lest there be a serious accident to follow. Ignis gently nudged you forward toward the back wall, and your feet followed until you stood shoulder to shoulder with unknown females, Crowe two down from them on your right and Iris one down from the female on your left.

You squared yourself so that you faced Ignis, whose eyes were on everything but you. It amazed you that he could look so out of place in faire garb, and wondered what had propelled him to change to begin with. You didn’t want to think too much on it, however, as it only served to remind you of a certain _terrible_ and _indecent_ incident. What bothered you more was the fact that he’d asked to be your partner. Was he drunk, too, or something? Maybe Nyx was rubbing off on him.

The male jester played through the first verse of the song twice to get everyone on beat, the song lighthearted and happy as much as you were not at that moment. Iris clapped and bounced on her heels, but she was the only one. As the female jester opened her mouth to give the first order of the dance, a loud, “Wait!” bellowed out from within the crowd of seated patrons, and Gladio bolted onto the stage, dragging Prompto behind him. The intrusion resulted in several chuckles, both on and off stage and the abrupt screech of a halt to the viol music.

The female jester frowned as Gladio tromped on stage, which shook under his heavy weight. He looked around the stage, found your face, and then frowned.

“Iggy, that’s _my_ girl,” he said, causing the adviser to glance away, the tips of his ears budding red, probably from the heat of the day. It _was_ getting up there in temperature, after all.

“Yes, well, you took too long in the bathroom, it seems,” Ignis said in a much lower voice.

“Pardon me, good sir…” The female jester took Gladio by the arm and turned him back toward the stairs. “We’re about to dance, so if you’d be so kind as to—” Her attention fell to Prompto. “Oh, begging your forgiveness, I hadn’t seen your lovely partner here. Please, join the ranks. We welcome couples of all kinds into our dance.” She shoved a wide-eyed Prompto into the girl’s line, directly next to you, and Gladio took pause, everything happening so quickly for him.

He started, “I don’t—”

“Come, come now.” She shoved him next to Ignis, who sidestepped to make room. “We haven’t got all day. There’s another show coming on after us.” Then she turned back to the audience, announcing the types of steps in _Joscelin’s Farewell,_ which was, apparently, one of the easiest to master.

You nudged Prompto in the side, and he groaned into his hands.

“Lovely partner?” he mumbled into them, and you almost didn’t hear him.

Leaning closer to him, you said, “For a couple of drinks, you could be.”

He glared some hearty daggers at you and you returned to an upright position, all smiles. You wished you could make Crowe switch places and be Prompto’s partner instead. You inwardly chortled at the sight of Nyx having to be Gladio’s partner, although you doubted that either would go for it.

Iris waved at her brother, but his eyes found Ignis’ profile, eyes hidden well under those glasses of his.

“Switch me partners,” you heard Gladio say.

Ignis adjusted his glasses and whispered, “You’ll hurt Prompto’s feelings.”

“No, he won’t,” Prompto muttered just as the viol sparked back to life.

A humorless stare found its way to Gladio’s face as he urged again, “Iggy, switch me partners.”

The female jester clapped and boomed, “Five, six, seven, eight—girls curtsy, boys bow!”

Ignis did as she commanded and paid no attention to Gladio, whose face belied befuddlement at the snub. You, too, found yourself quite surprised. It took a moment for the big guy to jolt to life and join in the dance, although with far less enthusiasm as the rest of the dancers. Even Prompto appeared to be making the best of a genuinely awkward situation.

You followed the directions, and Ignis mirrored your movements with an admirable kind of perfection, his eyes focused forward, but not on you. You were asked to step into your partner’s space, palms to palm, and circle right twice, then left once. It felt no different than square dancing, and you had been pretty good at square dancing, if you did say so yourself. The only difference was that Ignis was your partner, not Gladio, and that left you uncomfortable. If it bothered him, he didn’t show it. Of course, he’d never look at you, so maybe that was show enough.

If that was the case, you couldn’t understand why he asked to be your partner. Why would _anyone_ they hated ask to be someone’s partner? Then it hit you. He must’ve had intentions to humiliate you during the dance, like tripping you off the stage or into someone else and then declaring to all what a clumsy drunk you were. No wonder he wouldn’t switch partners with Gladio. He wouldn’t shove Prompto off the stage or trip him.

When left unchecked, you certainly let your imagination run too wild. It was time to reel it back in.

Your attention shifted briefly to Nyx and Crowe, who went left instead of right the first time, and Crowe slapped Nyx’s arm when he led them astray a second time. She took the lead, and pulled him right. Your lips quivered at the sight of Prompto and Gladio as they palmed up and circled. The Shield appeared less than pleased to be in the position where he was, and Prompto looked so small in comparison to the larger man. They could’ve passed as a cute couple, a big barbarian and a tiny cosplayer from King’s Knight.

Ignis took your elbow with his and led you in another circle to the left, still avoiding your gaze. By this point, you found yourself curious. Never mind the terrible atrocity that had occurred, you’d never known the royal adviser to be so discomposed before. And, to think, he had only just insulted you in the jewelry booth a little over an hour before.

“Nice costume,” you mumbled to him, hoping that your wild imagination was only just that—wild.

He appeared more intent on listening to the next set of directions. You were to shuffle left while he went right, and then switch partners. Gladio was to be yours, and Prompto would slide down into some unknown man’s arms. You wished it would’ve been Nyx. That would’ve made your day, teaching him not to lie to you about being blacklisted from the Bazaar and then giving you a painful noogie to boot. Iris waved to Ignis, who nodded and received the unfamiliar girl on your left.

Gladio took you in his arms and led you in a small circle on your own. Then, you both were to step out toward the edge of the stage and come back again.

“At least I still get to dance with you,” Gladio said and grinned.

You tried to return the smile, but the gesture felt too awkward. Instead, you said, “You made quite the entrance.”

“I tried to get back here sooner, but Noct’s hair got caught in his armor. Prom and I had to waste time trying to yank it out.”

The visual left you chuckling, but then it was time to return to Ignis, who quirked a brow upon your arrival. Maybe he thought you and Gladio were talking about him. Maybe you should’ve been. You shuffled left around him, and then right, and the dance ended. You remained close to him as the jester and crowd clapped and cheered, unsure of where to be next. 

Ignis’ hot breath tickled the tip of your ear as he said, “I decided to take your advice.”

The confession caught you off guard. “Huh?”

“Changing into more period garments. Although, these are merely a rental for the weekend.”

The smirk appeared before you could will it to. “Oh, is that right? What was the occasion?”

The female jester clapped in front of both of your faces, startling you upright, and bellowed, “Pay attention, students! The next dance will keep you on your toes, yesss!”

And keep you on your toes it did. You’d never heard of _Many Knows Its,_ and had little time to contemplate the origins and title of the song as Ignis took your hands and sashayed you behind other couples in a large circle. You couldn’t really see, but you wondered how Nyx and Crowe were holding up behind you. If his coordination had been anything like earlier, then you could only guess. Then, the men were to form an inner circle, similar to the “starring in” aspect of square dancing. You found it amusing to see Ignis, Gladio, and Nyx, palms touching, as they circled left, but it was an absolute adorable sight to see the little knight of Iris’ partner trying to keep up with the adults, shuffling his tiny feet and holding his hands up for the others to take.

Gladio offered a thumbs up and said, “Good dancing, Talcott.”

Even with the silly helmet, you couldn’t mistake the boy’s sheepish smile.

When Ignis returned, you were to circle each other, back to back, and he said, “As to the occasion, it was the weapons master. He treated me just as you’d warned.”

It took a moment to understand, but not as long to piece together the idea that, while Noctis bought his new blade, the weapons master had cut Ignis out of the conversation. You could see it now, the weapons master, Noctis, and Gladio forming a small circle, their backs to Ignis—something that looked a little similar to what had happened with you when Cor and Ignis talked among themselves. Yeah, definitely something like that. The royal adviser didn’t seem the type to take kindly to being ignored, so, of course, he would remedy the situation by renting a costume.

“And that’s when you walked in on me naked,” you said aloud, mostly by mistake.

Ignis tripped over his feet, almost pushing Gladio off the stage.

Clearly insulted, Gladio stepped back and said, “Dude, Iggy what’s your deal?”

The royal adviser croaked out something you couldn’t quite make out, and the female jester scolded with, “Non! Non! Non! Your partner is the pretty thing with the lovely lips.” She pushed Ignis back toward you, but you couldn’t stop blushing at the “lovely lips” part. Faire was certainly something else. “Don’t steal another’s partner.”

You caught Nyx and Crowe’s eyes as you and your bumbling partner made the round to sashay in a circle again. Ignis definitely wouldn’t look you in the eyes again, and made no effort to properly hold you for the remaining two dances. He made a beeline for the stairs after all was said and done and never looked back.

Gladio and Prompto praised Talcott, who was rightfully proud of himself for keeping up with the dances and Iris’ skills. Nyx gently pushed you and gave you that, _“I know what trollish thing you did,”_ look with sparkling, glossy eyes. You wanted to tell him to get another drink, but Libertus and Noctis, who had joined the ranks some time ago, met you at the lip of the stage, remarking on one thing another, Nyx’s poor leading, Prompto’s submission to Gladio’s burly whims, how cute Iris and Talcott danced together—those kinds of things.

At the end of it all, you suggested that it was chow time, and that dynoaevis leg Nyx had earlier was most certainly calling your name.

\/\/\/

You learned that the older gentleman asking Ermin for directions was, indeed, Talcott’s grandfather, Jared Hester, retainer to the Amicitia family. The gods were most certainly saying, “Let that be a lesson to you,” for not offering your own services. Oh, brother.

Jared stopped by the food court to check on his grandson, whom sat in between Iris and Gladio, eating a large slice of wood fired pizza. A string of cheese hung from his lip, and Iris tapped her own chin to indicate for him to wipe it. The boy recounted to his grandfather the wonderful time he had, dancing on stage and how everyone was so good at it. Gladio and Iris chimed in, and the four of them had their own conversation over pizza, dynoaevis legs, and mead that only Gladio would drink.

Libertus and Crowe returned with a newly acquired Pelna in tow, who had just been relieved by Miles, and joined your table with a sausage dog and freshly squeeze lemonade, just in _case_ he was called back to work. You were glad that Nyx had secured a lone table that could seat fifteen, because the food court filled up quickly. Of course, shortly after everyone seated themselves with food and drink, he disappeared. Probably for more alcohol, that drunkard. You worried a bit with how much he’d been drinking that day. What would happen if he had been called to Glaive duty? Despite your worry, however, Libertus and Crowe didn’t appear to share the same concern. Pelna chinked his plastic cup against yours, which was filled with mead Gladio bought for you, and asked how you were enjoying the Fantasy Faire. He quietly listened as you described the joust, attractions, and how fun dancing had been.

Not wanting your dynoaevis leg to get cold, you explained in between bites, and chewed faster when either Crowe or Libertus would intervene. When the conversation eventually drifted to Glaive talk, you tuned the three out, and cast your gaze to the other end of the table. Ignis, Prompto, and Noctis enjoyed beer (of course Ignis would settle for water. Boring.) and dynoaevis legs. Yamachang set up a stall somewhere in the food court, and you almost felt like you were betraying him by not ordering his food, but you wanted a dynoaevis leg. Besides, none of the other Galahdian natives ordered from him, so you felt safe in your decision.

No one commented when you picked up your mead and paper plate with the dynoaevis leg and relocated to the other side of the table, in a small, vacant space next to Noctis. He absentmindedly scooted over for you, never once lifting his eyes from the new shiny blade he’d bought that afternoon. He’d clearly fallen in love with it. Prompto, who hadn’t gotten the chance to show you his new bone button collection, pointed to each new pin speckled across his cosplay. His favorite was one that said, “What happens at the Fantasy Faire, stays on…MyFace!” A darker side of Ignis shone through when he confessed that his favorite of the purchased bunch was, “Don’t wish your enemies misfortune. _Plan_ it.”

“I’m gonna get more,” Prompto announced after he finished his beer and dynoaevis leg. You were actually impressed with the record time in which he’d finished it. “Noct, you wanna come?”

The prince, who actually hadn’t finished his leg, but kept his beer, said, “Sure,” and the two promised to be back before everyone wanted to leave.

A little bummed that you hadn’t been asked to join along, you stared down at your half-eaten dynoaevis leg. It had been bigger than you were expecting. You weren’t sure you could finish all of it.

“Eyes bigger than your stomach?” came the voice of the remaining retainer. You were surprised Ignis was talking with you at all.

Still, you nodded and brought the mead to your lips, staring at the only clean corner of your paper plate. Silence passed between you like a calm wind until he sighed.

In almost a whisper, he managed an, “I’m…sorry.”

Somehow, you weren’t expecting that to be the next thing spoken. Eyes flickering up to his face, you weren’t surprised to see his gaze on something else—perhaps your own paper plate, or the wooden surface of the table next to it. Either way, it wasn’t on you.

“For what?” you asked.

He flinched, and you watched his Adam’s apple shift after, what seemed to be, a long, hard swallow.

“I believe you’re perfectly capable of deducing that.”

You were, but you wanted to hear him say it. After all, you remembered how unforgiving he had been when you’d voiced your own apology. Before you were able to goad him into a formal apology, however, he spoke again.

This time, his eyes _did_ meet yours.

“Sometime last month, you’d made a remark about how we’d gotten off on the wrong foot and wanted to start again.” Yes. Yes, you did and recalled that moment quite well, out on the balcony in the midst of a chilly April night. It was one of the worst nights you’d had in a while. “If…” He stopped, as though to recollect his thoughts or to carefully consider what he was about to say. Then, he tried again, “If, by chance, that offer still stands, I would like to attempt such a thing.” His head tilted from side to side, as though he were contemplating something. “Now.”

Maybe it was the alcohol affecting your own senses, but you felt less phased over his proposal than you should’ve. Perhaps it was a generic question because there was little meaning behind your, “Why?” when it left your lips. You regretted it immediately after, when your brain had had a moment to digest the intent behind his words.

Unsurprisingly, his eyes widened as though someone had stabbed him with a fork. “Why?” he echoed. He pressed a single finger to his forehead and pushed against the skin there. “I hardly believe that it begs a reason. You and I have been less than civil since we’ve come to make each other’s acquaintances. And, as the object of affection in the eyes of one of my dearest friends, I believe that it’s best we learn to get along properly.”

That time, you _did_ have the chance to digest his words and reflect properly, although it didn’t make you feel any better. So, it was like that, huh? The object of the only person you could think of’s eyes sitting _right at the table_ next to Talcott? It was like a crane had set an iron bar right across your chest. It was more than harmless flirting, then? You couldn’t honestly say that you were ready for anything more than that, not after everything you’d experienced in the last three years. The rumors hadn’t even died down yet.

Your mind was still in the prospect of dating Gladio when Ignis spoke again.

“Well?” he asked.

You fanned a hand in front of your face, but pushed a smile out from your lips. Playing coy, you replied, “No good. I want this to be for the two of us, not because your friend is involved.”

He didn’t appear to notice that you’d become edgy. Good.

“I mean,” you continued and then paused to take in a mouthful of mead. Followed by a contented sigh, you said, “If we’re not getting back on the right footing as an act of friendship, then I don’t think we should pursue this. After all, you _did_ see me naked and that’s pretty unfair.”

He hissed as though you had uttered a terrible curse word and his eyes darted to the other occupants at the table. Gladio, Iris, Talcott, and Jared were still in their own conversation, as Libertus, Crowe, and Pelna were in theirs. 

Whipping his glare-tattooed face back to you, he said in hushed tones, “First and foremost, I did _not_ see you _naked._ I saw you _partially clothed._ Secondly—”

“Don’t try to demean what happened,” you retorted with a wagging finger, less subtle about your conversation than he probably would’ve liked. “You saw my tits. I’m going to be scarred forever.”

This earned the attention of Crowe, who tilted her head in your direction.

Even though her eyes were on Ignis, her words were clearly toward you, “Is there a problem?”

You gave pause, considering how terrible of a person you wanted to be next. The alcohol gave you encouragement, but one look in the royal adviser’s eyes, and you felt guilty for antagonizing him so badly. Never had you seen him appear so earnest in trying to form both an apology and friendship all in one conversation. The red flush against his face didn’t help.

Shaking your head, you said, “No. Everything is fine.”

Although undoubtedly skeptical, she took you at your word and went back to the conversation—one that Pelna and Libertus had never broken, despite your loud and rambunctious behavior.

Gaze returning to an extremely uncomfortable Ignis, whose eyes were hidden in the palm of his hand, his thumb and forefinger pressed at each side of the glasses frame, you lowered your voice and said, “I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

For a moment, you were certain that he’d end the conversation and leave to join Noctis and Prompto. But, he stayed.

“Fine,” he said, changing the course of the conversation and dropping his hand. He returned his gaze to you, the flush dying from his face. “Let us regain our footing for the sake of a new friendship, shall we? Will that suffice?”

Although it had been entertaining to poke and prod the man while he lay at the mercy of embarrassment, other matters had your head tangled in weary thoughts—ones that you weren’t sure how you were going to cope with or get out of. Gladio liked you. A _lot._ You really didn’t know how you felt about that. But, if you could fix one thing wrong with this picture, you didn’t mind becoming friends with the one person who could’ve had your job over a month ago and decided not to pursue it. Maybe it was the most fortunate thing you could’ve experienced, if Harv had flooded anyone else’s office but Ignis Scientia.

You extended a hand, and smiled when he actually took it.

\/\/\/

Nyx found you and your group quite a while later with a lady friend in tow.

You assumed that she was Miss Spiracorn, or Horny Girl, whichever name she was going by at the time. She was as pretty as she was loud, and Nyx hadn’t been kidding about her furry top. You felt that if you yanked on the belt-wide bra and snapped it back on her, she’d go-a tumbling out of sight. And _that_ was a sight you’d pay for.

He claimed that he saw her hanging around in the ale line, a place he’d been frequenting almost the entire day. They spent all of lunch and even after in each other’s company, discussing everything under the sun, this way and that. You had your doubts, by the way he kept slinging his arm over his shoulder, and she let him do it, pressing her furry bosom up against him. Her bottom half was done up in the fur of a spiracorn, just as Libertus claimed, with stiletto hooves.

She twirled her hair around jewel adorned fingers and her bangles clinked with every theatrical gesture made, mostly in Nyx’s direction. As suspected, Crowe was the least impressed among your Glaive friends, and you found Horny Girl to be one of the worst choices in women he’d made in a while. Faire women were really the worst, you silently declared.

Toward the day’s end, when security and Quinzi’s team ushered patrons off the campgrounds, you were left with your Glaive friends and the prince and his. Only those who had paid for a weekend campsite were allowed to linger, but not directly on faire premise. That was cool. You were ready to change out of your garb anyway, your back still rubbed raw from the previous bodice.

Gladio asked if you wanted to join them back at their campsite in a bit, to which you hummed and hawed. After all, Crowe and Libertus were prepared to cook a spankin’ good meal, and you always enjoyed their campfire food. In that case, Gladio revised, could he and the others join you at your campground after they changed? You looked to Crowe and Libertus for consent. Crowe stifled a laugh, for some ungodsly reason, and Libertus shrugged. Maybe it was the alcohol or Pelna’s promised company that loosened Libertus up, since he had been quite vocal in the past that the prince and his retainers weren’t his favorite company. As for Nyx, he told Libertus to give his dinner to Pelna that night. He apparently had a spiracorn to catch.

Gross.

After Gladio promised to meet up with you later, you followed Crowe, Libertus, and Pelna to the campsite just before sundown, passing the rows of tents and flickering fires. This was your first time to the promised site, and Crowe explained that, if you needed to use the bathroom, two bathroom trailers had been rented for campsite renters—one that was supposedly very close to you and one on the other side of the campground. Wow. King Regis had been very generous in allocating the funds, indeed. She went on to say that you’d be sharing a tent with her. Nyx and Libertus had the other tent, although Libertus seemed resigned to the fact that Nyx wouldn’t be returning that night.

Double gross.

Upon arrival, you spotted seven chairs around a dead campfire, light colored ash piled inside the ring from last night’s fire. The charred remains of two logs were buried under the ash, like snow, and you cleaned out the inside as a force of habit while the other Glaives prepared the grill, cutting and prep area, and, lastly, the wooden picnic table to set the food. While Libertus made work of several arba steaks, Pelna hooked up the propane to the gas grill, and you pretended to look busy, although there wasn’t much for you to help with. Awkwardly, you straightened the camp chairs around the ring before excusing yourself to Crowe’s tent to change.

She had everything neat and stacked inside of her comfortable, could-fit-four-people tent. Two sleeping bags lay side-by-side with several blankets on top, and you wondered if the second was for you. As you squinted closer to the second sleeping bag, you recognized your ghastly, pale pink Li’l Malbuddy pajamas folded neatly on top.

You were _not_ wearing those in front of Noctis and the retainers, comfort in your strained body be damned.

Instead, you meandered your way to the tent next door while the Glaives weren’t paying attention and stepped inside Libertus and Nyx’s tent. Very much _not_ like yours and Crowe’s, they had shit scattered everywhere. If you didn’t know any better, you would’ve swore that a typhoon had swept by. Both sets of sleeping bags were tossed against each corner of the tent, clothes hurled as though there’d been a timeless pillow fight, and books, empty chip bags on Libertus’ side, and muddy Glaive boots littered the tent floor.

Triple gross.

Rolling your eyes, you sought and found Nyx’s duffel bag, several changes of clothes, a toothbrush, bottled water, and comb all inside. Even his super expensive cologne, aftershave, and razor sat tucked inside one of the corner pockets. You tried your best to make your intrusion appear unnoticeable while you sifted through his shirts and shorts, looking for something plain and adequate to wear. You settled on a simple, black t-shirt, and a matching pair of cargo shorts that were so long and baggy that they almost looked like flood pants on you.

Seizing your stolen goods, you absconded from the tent and tip-toe-ran back to Crowe’s, the Glaives none the wiser to your foul treachery.

Changing into normal clothes, especially stolen ones, had never felt so good.

You tried to appear nonchalant as you reappeared outside, Libertus and Pelna over the grill, while Crowe cut up vegetables. You gripped Angelo in one hand, wondering if some tin whistle playing would be appropriate while they cooked, since you had nothing else to do. You didn’t have to wonder long, as, from up over the horizon, you spotted Gladio and Ignis, each carrying a bundle of firewood, and Prompto, hauling something bulky and big on his back. You thought you recognized the shape. Noctis brought up the rear, eyes wandering to each glowing campsite as the flush of pinks and oranges crested the mountains, giving a radiant view of the sunset. What surprised you the most was the fact that none of the men had changed out of their fantasy garb, which was what you’d thought they’d gone to do in the first place.

“Brought you some firewood,” Gladio said when he was within earshot.

Color you puzzled, you thought to yourself as he moved past you to kneel at your dead fire ring, and set the wood next to it. Ignis passed him his load and Gladio made quick work of setting the logs, a small bunch of tinder lay next to the bigger pieces of wood.

“I see that,” you said after the moment had passed, but you were still too stunned to say anything. How kind that they had gone to bring wood. Ignis’ words came back to haunt you, about Gladio’s feelings, and what you were expected to do about them.

You’d figure it out later.

“Iris and Talcott didn’t want to come?” you asked.

Ignis answered, “I’m sure that they did, but they’re presently engaged elsewhere.”

“They’re helping Jared,” Gladio added, still arranging the logs in the pit.

“Well, well,” Libertus chuckled and shook a metal spatula at them. “Now, any man who’d generously offer his own firewood is welcome ta my own taste of Galahd—Arba steaks with my own secret rub.”

“You’re too kind,” Ignis said, but kept himself situated toward the back of the camp, looking almost as uncomfortable as you felt.

“I thought you guys went back to change?” you pointed out.

Even though you knew Gladio to be quite capable of casting magic to start the fire, he worked like a natural survivalist, laying the bigger pieces like he was building a small cabin, the pieces of tinder built into the center. He pulled some small pieces of rope and cotton to place into the center, and sparked his lighter.

“Iggy thought it was best to keep in costume,” Prompto said, awkwardly moving closer toward the ring. “Something about keeping Noct in disguise.”

Gee, you pondered, shooting the adviser a glance. Wonder where he’d gotten _that_ idea?

“The get-up is actually pretty comfortable,” Noctis said. “More so than I’d expected.”

“Indeed,” Ignis concurred. “I daresay I’d have to agree.”

Crowe actually smiled, and hospitably gestured to the chairs around the ring. Noctis slipped into one, while Prompto slid the bulky mass from off of his back. Just as you suspected, you recognized the guitar case as he passed it off to you. You received it in more confusion than you thought you could possibly handle.

Without looking up at you, Gladio said, “Actually, while the offer of dinner sounds amazing, I was hoping for something more of a _trade_ for the firewood.” Then, barely glancing up at you with lined eyebrows, he grinned. “You still owe me a set, Flamey, and I’ve come to collect.”

“Oh?” Crowe looked from you to him. “Is that right? When did this happen?”

You gawked at the case in your hand. It was definitely heavier than your own guitar, and you wondered where Gladio had gotten it.

“Last month,” you answered, flatly. “Back at the Bazaar.” Then, shaking your head, “Where did you get this, Gladio?”

“Belongs to a buddy of mine,” he said, returning his attention to the fire. He set the tinder aflame, blew on it until the embers birthed red, and fanned the growing smoke and flames. “He brought it and I asked to borrow it.”

“How convenient,” you muttered and seated yourself in one of the chairs to unzip the case.

Pulling the guitar from inside, you stared at the craftsmanship of the wood. An acoustic guitar that’d seen better days, chipped around the neck and body, and several stickers, both ripped and faded, decorated the back. In permanent marker, the name, “Payton” stared back at you. When you echoed it aloud, Gladio revealed that it was the guitar’s owner.

Crowe frowned. “Payton wouldn’t happen to be a Glaive, would he?”

The Shield finished fanning the flames until a healthy fire crackled and sparked up before him. “Yeah,” he said, eyes on the dancing fire. “Why do you ask?”

Her eyes found yours and she mouthed the word, “Firestarter,” that you understood quite clearly. To Gladio, she simply said, “I’ve worked with him out in the field,” before turning back to her veggie chopping.

As you continued your observation of the battered and bruised guitar, Gladio said, “Sorry that they’re not Lestallum strings, but I thought you might still be able to belt out something cool on it.”

You set the beast across your lap and gestured to it with your free hand. “It’s not about the strings. This thing is way too big for me. I can barely reach the B and F chord.”

“You’ll make it work,” Libertus encouraged. “After all, we saw how you killed it at the Bazaar. Tossin’ it over yer back an’ playin’.”

“Oh, really?” Pelna asked, suddenly intrigued. You glanced over your shoulder at him, him holding the bloody packaging and wrappers from the steaks. Clearly, no one had prepared a garbage bag for him. “I never even knew you played.”

You put the guitar back into the case and left to grab a garbage bag from inside the animal lock box. Even out here in the city, it wasn’t surprising to see a stray flexitusk or rogue coeurl.

“She sings like a bird, too,” Gladio added. “Swept me off my feet the first time I saw’er.”

You kept your head tilted toward the bag to hide the growing blush on your cheeks. “It’s nothing special, and I haven’t been playing for very long,” you said, and flapped the opening until the bag widened and he dumped the packaging inside. “But, if you want me to play, I gotta tune it first. Payton doesn’t seem to have been caring very well for his baby.”

You did exactly that, tuning by ear since you didn’t have a tuner on you, and there wasn’t one in the case. Only once did Ignis ask if he could provide any assistance in the cooking, and both Crowe and Libertus politely shut him down. Gladio sat in the chair closest to you, while you were positioned closest to the tents, with a direct view of the path sparkled with other campfires, in case Nyx came back early. Ignis sat with a vacant one between you, and Prompto and Noctis sat across from you around the fire, a vacant chair in between them.

The sun declined behind the mountain range as the Glaives continued to cook, and you opted to break out Angelo for the first act, since you hadn’t played with an audience, yet. You didn’t feel comfortable playing someone else’s guitar, especially one that was too big for you. The prince and his retainers listened as you began with _The Squire and the Stranger,_ and then flawlessly moved into _Gardengrove,_ your fingers dancing along in muscle memory across the six holes. It left you all aflutter how a simple instrument could leave your camp quiet and still, save the sounds of chopping and the sizzling of meat on the grill.

Gladio watched you with his elbows on his knees, inclined at the waist. Noctis glanced up into the sky, but you knew he was listening, and Prompto snapped pictures all around you as you smiled into the mouthpiece of your whistle. Even Ignis fastened his gaze on you, although it lacked the contempt of the first time he watched you play. He actually seemed genuinely impressed, the tug of his own amusement lined across his lips.

The song ended and you held the note for as long as your lungs would allow, Crowe whistling and cheering from the chopping table next to you. Libertus echoed in deep howls that only he could manage, and Pelna clapped, egging you on for more. It didn’t take long before the men gathered at the fire around you called for an encore, even Ignis and Noctis, who you wondered would’ve been particularly bored or unimpressed. Neither seemed either.

You pulled the whistle from your lips, still smiling from your friends’ compliments. Opening your mouth to mention the name of your next planned song, you were cut off by an unfamiliar voice.

Unfamiliar to your group of friends, anyway.

“‘Sup, losers,” Tredd Furia said as he strolled into your campsite.

He sported the Glaive coat, obviously not being one of the lucky ones to have gotten the weekend off. His married posse of Sonitus and Axis weren’t far behind, also quite unlucky in having gotten the weekend off.

Crowe’s laughter died on her lips, and she tightened her grip around the spatula. Even Libertus gave a grave pause. You, on the other hand, remained as calm and unperturbed as possible. No other Glaive grated on your nerves more than Tredd. He was one of the founding rumormongers who had spurred talk about how close you and Nyx were and that, “there absolutely _had_ to be something going on between the two of you.” It wasn’t like you could entirely blame him, however. After all, your longest relationship had been with one of his closest friends, a scummy cheater who worked at Passiflora-Incarnara, right across the way from Yamachang’s. 

The prince and his retainers remained silent as Tredd circled them and you around the fire, almost in a light dance. You were grateful for your friends’ silence, especially Gladio’s, even though the look in his eyes made you wonder if he knew Tredd.

Tredd shot off finger guns at Pelna, who frowned and averted his eyes to the sizzling meat on the grill.

“Why so serious?” the redhead droned out before his lips curled upward. “You’re the one who mentioned they were here in the first place.”

Libertus released a noise of complaint before slapping the metal tongs against the flat of the grill. He glared at Pelna, who turned away entirely.

“I-I didn’t know he was going to come here,” he mumbled, but you managed to hear him anyway.

“Pretty sure you were the one who invited us, fella.” With a grin, Tredd pulled up the vacant chair between Prompto and Noctis with a loud screech and seated himself there. Both men appeared wary. As they should’ve. “So, Libertus, when’s dinner?”

“There ain’t enough fer ya,” he snapped, eyes burning hard into the other man’s face. “Wha’dere ya doin’ here anyway, Tredd?”

Sonitus and Axis snickered and whispered incoherent things to each other. It made your blood boil and you gripped the whistle in your hands until they shook.

“That’s some terrible hospitality toward a fellow Glaive,” Tredd said and gasped before slapping a hand over his heart. “And here I was just telling the guys all about the great dinner that good ol’ Libertus would be treating them to.” His eyes wandered the perimeter of the campsite. “And where’s our very own hero? Don’t tell me he’s abandoned you and Crowe to do all of the cooking?”

It appeared very much like Gladio and Ignis both wanted to intervene, but you were thankful that they recognized the protestation in your face, and closed their jaws. Even Crowe wore the perfect Quinzi-counting-to-ten face, but she didn’t appear to be as good about counting to ten as he was.

“Aren’t you needed back at the Citadel?” she asked.

His brows lifted and he pursed his lips. “What? Aren’t _you?_ Asking for the weekend off is a little selfish, if you ask me. Especially since it creates double-duty for me and my boys here.” He jerked a thumb to the others, who closed in the circle, standing right behind Prompto and Noctis.

Either they were really stupid or really oblivious to not realize who they were in the presence of, making complete asses of themselves.

“And, speaking of Hero,” Tredd went on, licking his lips. “He has the nerve to ask me to switch shifts with him so he can come out here to bone every chick he sees.” Then, he pointed a finger at you, cutting a grin with perfect, white teeth. “How’s that make you feel, princess? Your boy toy leaving you all alone to answer to the pheromones in some hooker’s tent, while you’re all dolled up in his clothes? I’ll bet’cha wish you were still with Vico, now, huh?” 

You pressed your lips together in a straight line and squeezed your body in tighter, trying so damn hard not to retort. You felt everyone’s eyes on you, staring at your stolen clothes that could now only pass for you being a piece of Nyx’s property. Gladio’s eyes lingered on you the longest, his jaw taut and face unreadable. 

It was no big secret to you that Tredd felt a sense of animosity and inferiority toward Nyx, and you both worked in different departments. Vico (which was only a nickname for that guy you used to know, but you’d prefer the term “dumbass” to any other nickname) used to bring it up all the time: how Nyx stole the limelight, how Tredd would try so hard, but it was always _Nyx_ who got the better missions, leaving Tredd to do things that soiled his talents—chauffeuring, gate duty, other types of makeshift security gigs. Vico wasn’t Kingsglaive, which meant that Tredd talked about what happened inside the Citadel walls. A lot. So, of course, you tattled to Nyx, whom was your big brother. What loving surrogate sister wouldn’t? But, if Tredd was bringing him up now, after almost three years later, then you were clearly still on that dumbass’ mind. 

Tredd should’ve known better than to air your dirty laundry among friends, but he had always been bad with boundaries, thus, he continued, “You all look up to him like he’s some kind of big celebrity hero, but he uses the king’s name, magic tricks, and coat to score pussy, am I right, or am I right?” He turned and high-fived each of his friends.

“All right, you’ve worn out your welcome,” Crowe snapped and pointed out into the darkness with her spatula. “Leave, Tredd.”

Again, he feigned a kind of hurt reserved only for the most smarmiest of trolls, but you were a master at that game.

You found yourself grinning.

“Why, what’s the hurry?” you asked her, earning an unfavorable stare in return. Placing Angelo back into your burlap pouch, you reached for Payton’s crummy guitar and seated the beast across your lap. Running your fingers across the strings to create a short strum of joyous sounds, you smiled and shook your head. Your fingers were too short. You’d have to stretch them pretty damn far to reach those hard-to-get chords. But you’d do it. No one insulted your brother and got away with it. Except for you. “Don’t send our guests away yet, Crowe.” Then, your attention fell on Tredd. “You’ve come at the best time possible. I was just about to play a sing-along. Make sure you join in if you know the words.”

He snorted and looked up at his friends, before mumbling, “This oughta be good.”

Gladio and Ignis turned eyes to each other, as though having a silent conversation, and Noctis and Prompto appeared downright confused. Still, they listened while you strummed.

You plucked the first couple of chords to _Drunken Johnny,_ even though they sounded strange against your ears with Lucian Strings after playing with Lestallum for so long. You didn’t care. You had something more amazing in mind.

You started off, “I get on with life as a sailor, and I’m-a drunken kind of wretch, but with Johnny here, it’s whiskey clear, there ain’t no other catch. Do I love sailing more than whiskey? Do I love whiskey more than sailing? When I’m alone, my mind turns back, and I don’t know what I was thinking.” You felt Libertus and Pelna’s eyes on you, and you knew that Crowe was wondering what you were doing, but Tredd sat across from you with such a smirk that you couldn’t wait to surprise it from off his face. You played through the solo, eyes shifting from him to his little posse. Somehow, maybe it was from sheer determination, but you made it through without fudging up any of the chords or melody.

Still, Tredd rolled his eyes and said over your playing, “Sounds shitty. You’re a shitty guitarist.”

You readjusted your hand, changed the tempo, and belted out a long, “Ohhhhhhhh,” that stopped him in his insult. You paused, and then sang, “Tredd Furia’s nose is enormous, during a storm at sea, it sheltered all twelve of us.” The eyes of all of your companions widened, but the prize you received was Tredd’s becoming the widest of all. On a roll, you continued, “The mast it kept-a breaking, but his nose-a kept-a floating, like an island in water, man, son, and daughter, we held on as he drowned a-gloating.”

“Shut up,” he growled, rising from his chair. “Shut the fuck up.”

You broke Crowe, Gladio, and Prompto, who did their weakest to refrain from chortling. Even Ignis appeared to be having a difficult time composing himself as he looked away, fidgeting with his glasses. You had to glance away in order to keep a straight face as you strummed, the happy tune bringing a kind of delight to everyone in the campsite except for your intended target and his married posse.

The amusement in Libertus’ voice echoed behind you as he cheered, and you thought you heard Pelna encourage you. You didn’t need to be told twice. You had these lyrics composed for months to play against Nyx the next time he insulted you about whatever. You just never had a place to play them.

And now you did.

“We’ll pour whiskey for him, brother,” you broke into song again, despite Tredd’s outbursts, “of the long-nosed hero among us, though we’ll forget his name, it’s hardly a shame, we’ll bury Tredd ‘neath the fungus.”

“You bitch!” He lunged toward you, only to be stopped by one of Gladio’s arms, and the rising of Ignis’ own body, which stood between you and the fuming redhead. Only then did the Shield stand, lumbering over the Glaive’s form. The shadow from the fire made Gladio appear that much more daunting.

“All right, buddy, I think that it’s high-time you go back on duty,” Gladio said in an easygoing tone. Still, you couldn’t mistake the tightening of his jaw as he pushed back against Tredd using only his forearm and shoulder. Tredd reached up to hit Gladio, but the other effortlessly seized the oncoming arm. Leaning in closer to Tredd, Gladio said, “Wouldn’t want to make yourself look more foolish in front of His Majesty than you already have, would you?”

With that, Tredd stopped struggling, and Sonitus and Axis glanced down at the sighing prince before them.

“W-What?” Tredd’s voice wavered.

“Did you really have to blow my cover like that?” Noctis grumbled.

“I hardly believe it’s a bad thing, considering that our king-to-be needs to witness the attitudes of those who surround and protect him…” Maybe it was the fire reflecting off of Ignis’ glasses that made him appear so strange and eerie, but you were glad that you weren’t on the receiving end of his scowl this time, “…don’t you agree?”

Sonitus and Axis staggered back, each grabbing the other’s arm as they surveyed the men seated in front of the campfire. Clearly, underneath all of their fantasy disguises, the Glaives hadn’t recognized the very family they were meant to be serving. Ouch.

As that realization became painstakingly clear, Tredd wretched himself free from Gladio’s grip and locked eyes with you. “You set us up,” he snarled.

“Hey, man,” Prompto interjected, standing. The intervention left you gawking; you hadn’t pegged the small blonde as one to be confrontational in any sense. Color you surprised. “We were here first. You’re the one who came storming into camp. You set yourself up all on your own.”

With all but you and the prince standing, Tredd must’ve seen himself as embarrassed, foiled, and certainly outnumbered. He turned back to the chair, knocked it over with a kick of his foot, and stormed out of camp.

“Oh, don’t be in such a hurry, Tredd,” you called after him, although you knew better to leave well enough alone. You couldn’t help it. He didn’t know how much he had ruined your life with all of the rumors he’d started. “I’ve still got four more verses, all ranging from your funeral, to when a pack of voretooths dig up your decaying corpse and tear you from limb to limb, to when your skull somehow finds its way to your poor grandmother’s doorstep.”

“Might wanna tone it down a bit, Flamey,” Gladio said, eyes focused in on the darkness that Tredd and his band disappeared into. “There’s no tellin’ what a guy like him might come back and do if you keep it up.”

You huffed and set the guitar down on the ground next to you. “I’m not scared of that guy.”

“He’s got’a point,” Libertus cut in from behind you. “Tredd’s a loose cannon. Sometimes he’s got yer back, and, other times, he’s stabbin’ you in it.”

You pressed your lips together in a tight line. It wasn’t like you didn’t know that. For three years, Tredd’s rumors had caused you and Nyx nothing but grief. Well, more like you. It was a wonder how your brother could roll it off his shoulders so easily, but your reputation meant a lot to you, and every cockeyed glance or whisper made you nauseous. All because you’d dated a scumbag. And all because that scumbag was best friends with Tredd Furia.

Prompto turned to set the chair Tredd had kicked upright before returning to his own. Gladio and Ignis did the same, but the atmosphere changed. No longer did the jocular air of laughter and merriment embrace your campsite, but you’d do your damnedest to bring it back. While Crowe, Libertus, and Pelna served up food for you and the others, you played every song you could think of on both Angelo and Payton’s busted up guitar, doing what you could to revive the heart of the evening.

\/\/\/

An hour and excellent meal later, Gladio and the others retired back to their campsite, all with the promise of meeting up again the next day. The Shield relented and said that you made good on your promised set, and that he’d bring more firewood the next night in exchange for another. Pelna left when they did, and you helped Libertus and Crowe clean up before bed. You knew it had been because of Tredd’s unwelcomed presence, but neither talked much during the clean-up, each sipping from their own beer bottles.

You took one when Crowe offered.

“Don’t let it get to you,” she said, and you told her you’d try.

They’d been around for the worst of it back then, too.

“Rumors are only rumors, Danny,” Libertus said, and you didn’t bother to chastise him on the use of your precious nickname. “Tredd does it ‘cuz he knows it bothers ya. People talk, it’s the way of the world.”

You knew that. You were smart, it wasn’t like you didn’t know. But you were proud of the life you’d cultivated away from home and it pissed you off that some dumbass and pretentious prick wanted to ruin that for you.

Crowe told you not to stay out too late by the time she and Libertus went to bed. You sat in your usual chair around the campfire with a second beer and outlasted the flames in the ring, watching for almost fifteen minutes until the last speck of glowing ember shut its eyes for the last time and disappeared into the remains of the charred log. Only after you lifted your eyes did you realize how very dark the night had become, moonless and still. Summer was coming, and a gentle heat wave hung in the air.

You weren’t sure what time it when footsteps echoed around you and you stiffened against the back of the chair. A tall shadow staggered into the camp and bumped the edge of the prep table across from you. You couldn’t mistake Nyx’s hiss any more than you’d mistake the stocked supply on your custodial chemical cart and merely smiled as you watched him stumble and fumble to get into his tent.

Tomorrow, you were going to give him so much shit.

\/\/\/

The last to bed and the first to rise, your head pounded with a major sleep-deprived-alcohol-induced headache that could only be fixed by the sweet taste of coffee and a fruit crepe with whipped cream on top. One good thing about having a campsite was that it granted access back into the fairgrounds to get breakfast at the coffee and crepe stall. Gracelessly tumbling from the tent without, miraculously, waking Crowe, you clomped your way down the paved pathway, faire costume in a crumpled ball in your arms, in search of the alleged bathroom trailer that Crowe’d promised.

_Luxury_ bathroom trailer was what she should’ve called it, because that was what it was, a heated public bathroom on wheels—except that it smelled nicer, had pretty sink lights, and two fake plants sat on each side of the door. Closing yourself into the handicapped stall so that you had more room to move, you made quick work of changing into your garb and fumbled through the bodice lacing. You’d have Crowe help you fix it later. You just wanted to look presentable enough to get a crepe and coffee. Although you hadn’t bothered to remove your makeup the night before, you deemed yourself socially worthy and fussed with your hair for only a moment.

You dumped the clothes you’d slept in the night before—Nyx’s clothes, to be specific—in your camp chair before departing the empty site. Glancing at your phone, you quirked an eyebrow at the silence. It was nearing eight-thirty; normally Crowe, at the very least, would be up by now. Maybe they’d gotten drunker than you thought and were sleeping it off.

The thought of a powdered, whipped creamed soaked crepe changed the direction of your wonderment and you made your way down the path, eyes flickering from the pavement to the rows of colorful faire tents, stages, and the joust only a few hundred feet from where you walked. From somewhere inside the faire, the sound of wood flutes, viols, and, what you thought you heard was called, a hammered dulcimer, hit your ears. Before long, you caught yourself bobbing along with the music as the small, makeshift village stirred to life.

You wished you had remembered to bring Angelo, but then thought about seeing if you could find a wood whistle for sale. Your thoughts carried you to how much money you could feasibly afford to spend before you’d have to cut yourself off when a boisterous, “Good morning,” stopped you where you walked.

Spinning on your feet, you were greeted by a more-awake-than-you Ignis, already dressed in his own garb, clothes clean and almost… _pressed_ looking. No way. You were imagining things.

Smiling, you joked, “Did you sleep in costume last night?”

He retained his lighthearted demeanor, even as he said, “Don’t be silly. These are for rent, and I’d rather not have to purchase the lot of them, should something come back amiss.”

He joined you at your side and you both walked toward the grounds together.

“What brings you down this way?” you asked after a moment, surprised that he’d be willing to join you on a morning jaunt, especially after the fiasco from the day before. Perhaps, he was truly attempting to make good on his proposal and wanted to fashion a friendship.

Unlikely.

“I’d presume for the same reason as you,” he said before gesturing to your own faire attire. “Didn’t want to be snubbed by the actors and vendors just for ordering a simple cup of coffee, yes?”

As a matter of fact, that was only _mostly_ the truth, but you didn’t want to tell him that, especially since you were pretty sure that he wound up tossing and turning about his own experience all night. You parted your chapped lips to make way for a pearly grin and batted your eyes.

You made the remainder of the quest for coffee and crepe in silence, although you were too engrossed in the morning excitement to notice. The smell of burning wood and incense returned to greet you, and the sun clipped the ridge just enough to dye the mountain peaks, the canopy tops, and you in a warm pink and golden glow. For just a little while, you found that you had forgotten, and could continue to forget, that you were a custodian hired by sovereign rule and that. You didn’t want to think that, by tomorrow, you’d be back to scrubbing toilets in this very same Community Center that’d been transformed into an archaic period of a long-ago Cavaugh, when times were so different than what you were used to seeing. The twist of a fantasy life into the antique lifestyle made you yearn to stay here forever and never return. Above that, you were walking it with someone who, only up until yesterday evening, hated your very existence. Weird.

Fairegoers passed you in their own garb, donning abra, spiracorn, and flexitusk pelts over the men’s shoulders, and thick, wool cloaks over the women’s. It was entertaining watching the actors pretending to be busy with no place really to go. “Good morrow,” flowed from many of their lips, with a tilt of the head, to which Ignis imitated perfectly. Perhaps it was because he was so refined or had a refined accent to begin with, but you thought he fit in rather well. 

You glanced up at him and refrained from poking his arm. “You’ve been practicing.”

“I’m afraid I must disappoint you, but I’ve studied early Cavaugh most extensively. This includes the culture and language.”

Shaking a finger at him, you said, “There’s nothing difficult about saying, ‘good morrow.’ Even a newbie like me can do it.”

“Is that right?” His eyes wandered the strip, stopping periodically to glance at a set of booths, but never long enough to actually peruse. “I must confess that I’ve had an expensive education. The art of acting and dancing isn’t lost on me.”

“Oh, try not to boast so much, Adviser Scientia. I’m surprised you’re letting me breathe the same air as you.”

He paused long enough in his surveying to shoot you an unamused stare. Then, rolling his eyes, “So, where _are_ they selling coffee?”

Shrugging, you pointed in the direction of the food court, not that either of you could see it at the moment. “My first guess was next to the dynoaevis leg booth. You know, where the food’s at.”

His face changed, and you weren’t sure if he was matching your sarcasm or had swallowed his smugness long enough to inwardly chastise himself for not having thought of that before. Either way, he nodded in the direction of your pointing, and you followed behind him, doing your best to keep from laughing.

Indeed, your suspicions were confirmed the closer you came to the food court, people armed with coffee and plates of crepes. Although several sat at the tables in the food court, there was still enough room for two, and you joined the short line in front of the large tent that read, “COFFEE AND CREPES” on the canopy.

Well, at least they weren’t beating around the bush.

You scanned the menu, not having ever ordered from them directly, but remembered how much you’d wanted to from all the years you had worked the Fantasy Faire. You always had the morning shift, right before faire opened, and drooled at the sight of the fluffy crepes, drizzling with syrup and whipped cream. You told yourself that you would savor every bite.

“What sounds good?” Ignis asked, crossing his arms as he craned his head up to study the menu. “I’m curious as to what a Reapertail Bruiser tastes like, especially with six shots of espresso.”

You had no idea what he was talking about, so you stepped in closer and had him point out the drink and its details.

“There,” he said and gestured. “Six shots of espresso, hazelnut, cinnamon, and dark chocolate.”

Sounded like a bruiser.

“I’m just going to have drip coffee,” you said. “Oooh, and the mixed berry crepe.”

This time, it was your turn to point and read the ingredients out to him. He nodded with each berry name and additive, like the syrup, whipped cream, and berry drizzle.

“You’ll most certainly be awake and on a sugar kick,” he said and went back to waiting in line.

You thought you’d let him order first, to be kind, anyway, and you turned your attention to the variety of booths in the food court. You thought about lunch for that afternoon, and whether or not it would be appropriate to skip out on seeing Yamachang, even though you could eat at his joint anytime you wanted. Prairie-Style Skewers, Leide style, were sold at the dynoaevis leg booth—you hadn’t seen those yesterday—and Battered Barramundi that you wondered was as good as Rye’s over at the mariner’s booth. Mmmm…fish. 

Should you trade up mead and beer for freshly squeezed lemonade? The choices were so many. And then there was the handmade ice cream sold next door to them. Never mind that none of this wasn’t period, you were in a tourist’s trap and loved every minute of it. Wait, the meat pie guy was here again this year? You’d heard that there’d been a falling out between him and the faire coordinators, but if he was here, then it had to have been resolved. Oh, you were most definitely hitting him up for lunch. Maybe sooner. Apparently, his Meldacio Meat Pies were out of this star and always sold out early in the day.

“Here you are,” and a cup of coffee appeared in front of your face. Staring blankly at it, your eyes slowly trailed up to meet Ignis’, who held his own cup of coffee close. “Drip coffee with room for cream…if you want cream, that is.”

Even as you took the coffee from him with an uncertain grip, you said, “Uh…what are you doing?”

The question appeared to take him aback, and he replied, “Handing you your coffee?”

“Don’t be cheeky. I haven’t ordered yet.”

He appeared to relax and sipped coolly from the opening in his lid. Then, he handed you a slip of paper and said, “Do you have a table preference?”

Confused, you glanced down at the paper. It was an order number. With a breakfast crepe and a crepe that looked _an awful lot like the one you were going to order_ on it.

Without breaking eye contact with the big, black number, you said, “Did you order for me?”

“The one with the most amount of sunshine? I couldn’t have agreed with you more.”

Head snapping up, the royal adviser had already seated himself at the proclaimed table: lots of sunshine and warmth.

“Ignis,” you said, voice loud, but flat, and most certainly not happy about the situation of things. He must’ve been pretending that his hearing had momentarily gone bad because he wouldn’t even look your way. 

When you tried to order at the counter, the cook, clad in a dough streaked and coffee stained apron, said, “He already ordered for you.” Then, he jerked a thumb at Ignis, who sipped from his coffee, head craned to the sky as though he were enjoying the peacefulness of the day, that rat. “But since you’re here…” the cook passed you two paper plates, each holding a crepe that smelled as rich and delicious as they looked. “Food’s ready.”

“Thanks,” you said, but turned heel to quickly approach the rapscallion.

Setting the plate with your crepe down first, you bounced the other with one hand in front of Ignis. He watched the act with a disguised fear. You wanted to drop the crepe in his lap.

“May I have it, please?” he asked when you came too close to doing just that.

“Why did you pay for me?” you asked and he snatched the plate from out of your hands. “I could’ve paid for myself.”

“Yes, well…” He stared down at the crepe, the folded pancake garnished with diced tomato, green onion, and sour cream. His gaze diverted back to the coffee and crepe booth, and it didn’t take you long to realize that he’d forgotten plastic utensils.

“I’ll get it,” you announced, realizing that you’d be needing a fork and napkin, too. “But, first…” Your hands reached for the clasp on your pouch, and you fished inside for your wallet.

Catching on quick, Ignis hastily reached across the table to slap your hand out from inside.

“I don’t want your money,” he said. “Consider it a token of friendship. That’s what we’d decided on yesterday, yes? Or am I mistaken?”

The sting from the slap meant less when put next to his brazen declaration of a wanted friendship. Truly, you hadn’t thought him to be serious. After all, you’d been involved in the flooding of his office, destroying everything inside. Then laughed about it. Then almost killed him in a joyride and slammed his head against a bathroom door. Oh, and then he helped search for your sorry ass that time in the bathroom. And you supposed that you could’ve been nicer about him accidentally walking in on you yesterday, but you could’ve been even nicer than that in the jewelry booth.

After all, he could’ve been the leading cause of your career termination, and had even covered for you with Cor and the training room floor, and complained about Lambert, when he should’ve been making many complaints against you.

You still weren’t going to voice any of this right now.

His eyes shifted back and forth from you to the crepe vendor. “Are you still willing to get our cutlery?”

Without a word, you left him at the table and grabbed two sets of plastic utensils, rolled together in a napkin and tied off with string, from the folding table in front of the crepe booth. They were located in a basket in the midst of more syrup, creamer, which you took only a little bit of, and sugar. When you returned, you made sure that it was with several questions in mind to change the direction of the conversation, and to steer it away from your own awkwardness.

Passing him one set of utensils, you said, “So, I guess that your ‘expensive education’ explains how you knew all of the dances yesterday, am I right?”

He thanked you before unrolling the napkin and plastic ware. As he cut his crepe into many bite-sized pieces, he said, “I knew none of the dances, actually, but I’ve studied the style. Moves and commands are all very similar, especially if you’re familiar with the culture.”

Somehow, you doubted that, but the way he said it made you want to believe him. You stared down at his crepe, cut apart into at least a dozen pieces. Spinach, egg, tomato, onions, and bacon all peaked out from each side, the liquid from the vegetables oozing out from the cuts. After a moment, you mirrored the same actions until your crepe turned into a red and white mess. It didn’t matter to you; it still tasted amazing going down.

“So,” he started again a few bites later, “I recall you saying that you had a brother. Has he joined you and your friends here at the faire?”

You paused mid-fork action, mouth open to shovel more crepe goodness in. You mentioned your older brother? When had that happened?

Shaking your head, you said, “No, my brother lives in Pryham with my father. I haven’t seen him in over a year.”

His quizzical brow made you reconsider eating that piece of crepe, despite how badly you wanted it. You shoved it into your mouth anyway.

“Really?” he asked. “But, you said at Gladio’s party that you were leaving to meet up with your brother.”

As you chewed, you considered exactly what he was saying. You’d said that? When?

Then, it occurred to you.

“Oh,” you said, mouth full of crepe. Swallowing, you took a moment and said, “No, I meant…well…” This was going to be interesting to explain, but, rather than think of a fanciful lie, you thought you’d be smooth. “I _do_ have a brother. He’s a Glaive.”

You really hadn’t expected him to take such a personal interest in what you were saying, but with another befuddled stare, you’d all but stopped eating. After all, the crepe was just too good.

“You’re from Galahd then?” It sounded more like a confirmation than a question.

Fidgeting, you cut the last of your crepe faster. “No, I was born in Pryham.”

“That makes it a little difficult for you to have a Glaive for a brother.”

You felt your smooth intentions crumbling all around you. If you _really_ wanted to fudge it, you could say a lot of dumb things: mother was a peasant, father was a Galahdian nobleman, the affair would’ve caused problems, your mother fled to Pryham, your half-brother became a Glaive after Galahd fell. Things like that. 

Stupid, nosy adviser.

Dropping your fork and knife onto the plate, you made direct eye contact with him, which wasn’t hard to do, considering he was giving you his full attention. “He’s more like a surrogate, all right? I picture him as my brother. Does that make sense?”

You hadn’t meant to sound snarky, but his prying unwound you. The last thing you needed now were more rumors about you. 

If he’d caught onto your bite, however, he appeared unfazed. “Of course it does.” And he returned his attention to his crepe. Slowly, you did the same. After a few more bites, he said, “Am I correct to infer that this ‘brother’ of yours is the same man that that Glaive spoke of last night? The one with the unwelcoming presence?”

Well, that was one way to describe Tredd’s wall-smashing entrance.

“Yeah,” you mumbled, feeling uncomfortable with where the conversation was going.

You were caught between what to do next: should you come clean? Should you shut him down? Tough call, especially since it was nosy Ignis, and he’d find out anyway, you figured.

Your crepe had gone cold, and you attributed that to the context of the conversation. “Look,” you said, stifling the sigh building inside of you. “Nyx is…he’s like my big brother, all right? Sometimes we have sleepovers, and share each other’s food, and fight, and steal each other’s clothes.” You hummed and hawed at that last part. “Or, rather, I take his clothes. I don’t think my clothes would fit him. Or that he’d even take mine. That would be weird. But, yeah, I take his clothes.”

At this point, Ignis appeared amused. Quite the stark contrast from what you’d expected. “Like last night?”

“Yeah,” you replied, although you weren’t stoked to admit it. Since he wasn’t your real brother, you figured that it sounded weird just taking someone else’s clothes. “Like last night. He and I’ve never dated, and we’ve never done anything with each other. He’s just, really… _really…_ ” You couldn’t help it. Trailing off, you couldn’t finish what you wanted to say, especially since it sounded so stupid, even more so in front of someone like Ignis. “Can you even understand what I’m saying right now?”

He finished chewing the last of his crepe before deciding to answer you. “Of course I can. I wasn’t born in a cast of daggerquills, you know.” Letting his fork and knife clink together onto the plate, he gathered his napkin and dabbed it across his mouth and cheeks. “My only remaining family is an uncle inside the Citadel, and, if truth be known, it always left me a little green watching Gladio and Iris interact while growing up. Despite their significant age difference, there is a clear bond there that I would’ve liked to have shared with a blood sibling.” He shrugged, even as he confessed this to you, as though he had come to terms with it and been okay all along. “As it goes, the bond that I share with my friends could be considered quite the same as yours.”

Taking his plate from the table, he stood, making ready to leave.

You watched as he cleaned his area, and then took your plate when you were finished.

“Are you leaving?” you asked.

“For now, yes.” He stacked your plate on top of his. “I need to speak to Madame Seamstress and her husband to inquire when these rental garments are to be returned.”

You grinned. “You should just keep them. They suit you.”

His smile appeared wry and you wondered why. “It’s hardly a passion that I wish to invest in. The weekend sufficed long enough for them. Thank you for the suggestion.”

With a nod, you said, “You’re welcome. And thank you for breakfast.”

“No need for thanks. The pleasure is all mine.”

Unlike the very first time you met, you could honestly say that the pleasure was, indeed, all his.

“And…” You bit your lip before the first thing popped out of your mouth. Taking a moment to actually consider what you wanted to say, you tried again, “Thanks for sharing that about yourself. It made me feel a little better.” You couldn’t expect him to know what you were talking about, and you were a little glad that he didn’t. 

Still, he seemed to acknowledge your appreciation and said, “I’m certain we’ll cross paths throughout the day.”

Of that, you had no doubt.

He left you to your coffee, which you had every intent on finishing before returning to camp. The crepe left you full and happy, and you realized that you had given Ignis your napkin just as you spotted a large drop of berry drizzle on your bodice. Wiping it away with your hand only created more of a mess, and you were about to rise to grab another napkin when a heavy seated weight made the table bounce.

Across from you, Nyx offered a big smile, not looking the least bit hungover or rejected by Horny Girl. He was even already garbed up for the day. Rolling your eyes, you made ready to stand, but he caught you by the arm before you could.

“Good morrow to you, too,” he said, imitating the faire accent quite well.

“I spilled drizzle on my bodice,” you explained, not humoring his accent with an attempt of your own, and tried to rise again.

“You got food and didn’t invite anyone?” he asked, returning to normal, and let you leave this time. “That’s a little rude.”

“No one was awake,” you said over your shoulder and grabbed another napkin. Cleaning yourself on the way back to the table, you added, “Besides, I thought you would’ve stayed in bed today, what with the way you were drinking yesterday.”

“I was drinking water, too,” he said, voice holding an air of offense. “I had to stay _somewhat_ sober in case they called me in.”

“I’m surprised you were drinking at all, in that case.” The drizzle had dried before you were able to get to it. Wetting the napkin with your tongue, you rubbed the sore spot until the paper frayed under your fingers.

“Libertus is cooking eggs and sausage up at camp,” he continued. “But I guess you’re not hungry, now, huh? So, you won’t mind if I take your share.”

Sticking your tongue out at him should’ve been answer enough, but he chuckled and squared himself completely at the table.

“So, did you at least use protection?” you asked. It wasn’t a question you really wanted an answer to, but something about Horny Girl rubbed you the wrong way, and you didn’t want to see Nyx get screwed by having little Ulrics running around, not when he didn’t have the means to take care of them when he was barely capable of taking care of himself.

He cocked an eyebrow and looked away. “W-What are you talking about?”

You kept a straight face, even though you were feeling all sorts of things inside: agitated, antagonistic, trollish, annoyed.

“I think you know.”

He scratched behind his ear, and then replaced one of his braids behind it. In a low and stern voice, he said, “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’ll have you know that we didn’t do anything last night.”

The drizzle wasn’t coming out as much as you wanted. You’d have to wet the fabric with water to get the desired result. Setting the torn napkin on the table, you reached for your coffee and prepared to take a long gulp. “Because she rejected you?”

He rolled his lips together and leaned across the table, “Because I don’t just take random girls to bed. Kind of have to admit, but that sort of hurts that you’d think that lowly of me.” Your eyes shifted to his, and they appeared to convey the very words he spoke. “It would be nice to actually _have_ a girlfriend, and that becomes harder to get when there’s only sex on the brain. I’d like to get to know someone before that point, all right?”

You sighed into the mouth opening of your lid before chugging. It was easier to keep the cup pressed to your lips to refrain you from saying something else that would only land you in deeper trouble. Of course you knew that about Nyx. Of course you did. He was a gentleman more often than not. It was just…sometimes you forgot.

Slamming the empty cup down on the table, you locked eyes with him again, and his mouth slowly pulled into a smile. “By the way, Libertus told me what happened with Tredd last night.”

Oh. Wonderful.

Offering your profile, you squeezed the cup until it popped the lid. “Sorry. I know you said not to stoop to his level.”

“I did. But it’ll be pretty funny to see how things play out since he made a fool of himself in front of the prince and his retainers.”

“I didn’t like how he was talking about you,” you mumbled in response. You didn’t like how he was talking about you, either, but he’d painted Nyx in such a terrible light the past three years, it just pissed you off. Glaives were supposed to work together as a team, not tear each other down.

He stood as you did. “Yeah, well, that’s Tredd for you. Sometimes, he can be a nice guy, and other times…”

You’d never seen the nice side of Tredd, even when you were with Dumbass.

“He’ll always hate me for what happened with Vico.”

“Yeah, well, Vico’s a moron who doesn’t deserve you. Good riddance.”

Yeah. Good riddance…

You meandered the length of the strip, making small talk as you made your way back toward the main pathway that would take you through the rest of the faire, and, eventually, back to the campgrounds. He mentioned that Horny Girl’s tent was only a few over from Noctis’ and his friends, which surprised him, especially since she had no idea how close to royalty she actually was—not that Nyx told her. Of course he wouldn’t.

You were both stopped by three on-duty Glaives: Elea, Miles, and the new recruit, Jenica. Since you hadn’t been formally introduced to any of them, you remedied that and shook each of their hands. Miles appeared a little studious, if not a bit shy, Jenica on the serious side of things, but you were certain that you and Elea could become fast friends if enough time permitted. However, they made their conversation strictly about Glaive business, and, as you stood there in utter boredom while they talked, your mind wandered to the things you wanted to do that day, being the last day of faire and all.

Faire would be open to the rest of the mundanes and patrons soon, nearing ten o’clock, and you hadn’t even applied your makeup—not that you had any on hand. Maybe Crowe would be generous and let you borrow some. Signaling to Nyx that you were going on ahead, you did exactly that before he could stop you.

Halfway up the strip, you spotted a group of actors in the middle of the road. Some of them were seated on wooden barstools and a large, white arch wrapped in green vines with white flowers blocked any further passage. A sign with the words “TOLL” scrawled in crude handwriting lay before you, almost as intimidating as the white arch. “TROLL” would’ve been more appropriate, you felt, as you studied the wall of people staring back at you. If it was money that they wanted, you could only spare a few coins.

You approached the group, all consisting of men. A tall, bearded fellow, dressed like in the mockery of some kind of fantasy friar, wearing a burlap sack robe-thing with a pendant in the sign of Shiva, halted you with his hand.

“I’m afraid that this path is reserved only for the two-by-twos who walk with the blessings of the Astrals, lass.”

The group behind him mumbled a bunch of things that sort of sounded like garbled affirmations.

Rolling your lips together, your eyes moved from him, to the arch, to the sign, and then to the dressed gentlemen all around. You had to remember that these were all actors, getting into the spirit of the Fantasy Faire, playing with the patrons to better immerse them in the experience.

You squinted.

Was that a fucking wedding arch blocking the street?

Nodding, but not sure what you were nodding about, you said, “All right…Then how can I pass?”

The fake friar folded his hands and gestured with his head toward the arch. “Only those engaged in holy union can walk as pure as the Astrals, hand in hand, giving blessings to the gods.” You hated his smile, especially the way his lips curled under that beard of his.

You knew you were going to regret this, but you said, “I have no one to walk with me.”

The friar’s eyes widened, as though he were expecting that response, and gestured to the waving crowd lining each side of the strip behind the arch.

“Such happy news for the eligible man to hear that a woman of your beauty is available to make him a lovely wife. Prithee, if you will, please make a selection among these upstanding lads, and let us seal the sign of love with a beautiful display of vows.”

It hit you too late, but sudden flashbacks of faire wives and husbands, and knights coming to sweep Crowe away hit you like a boxer’s punch in a starwide tournament. So _this_ was what Crowe and Nyx meant by “faire marriage” and not wanting to “get swept away” by a knight in shining armor.

All of these men were old enough to be your grand-pop-pop. Faire experience or not, this was a little out of your “fun league.”

The fake friar motioned you closer with a gentle wave of his hand, but you were scared awkward and really didn’t want to be wed to grand-pop-pop, pretend faire husband or not. If it was anything like Crowe and Nyx’s, you’d even get a nice, shiny band to commemorate the event.

“Come, lass, don’t be shy,” he said, and you wanted to sock that smile from off his face.

You didn’t move.

From within the crowd, you heard, “No band on your hand, then find a man or leave this land.”

That was a bit extreme, you felt. 

“I must confess, this young lady is with me.”

The voice made you jump in your pleather fantasy faire boots. Whirling your head to your right, Ignis stood there, tall, proud, and all.

And…why? Just, why?

The fake friar bumbled, his plan to marry off one of his actors in utter shambles. He cleared his throat and took a step back. “Ah, good lad, we were expecting you. Please, if you’ll take the young lass’ hand and follow me through here.” He motioned to the obstacle of an arch.

Even from behind Ignis’ frames, you could make out the sign of confusion. Maybe he didn’t know what he’d just stepped into, but he was sure as hell going to regret it in about fifteen seconds. And, so were you.

“Iggy,” you hissed, aware that his casual nickname should’ve been forbidden by you, newlyfriends or not. “What. Are. You. Doing?”

His eyes vacillated from the actor’s group to you. “I thought I was helping. Perhaps I should’ve judged the situation a little more closely before making the leap. What in Titan’s name is going on, anyway?”

“Bad things,” you said and your fingers twitched as he reached for your hand. His jolted in return against yours, as though electricity were repelling them. Before he could ask your meaning behind those scary words, you said, “I don’t know if you want to do this.”

You swore that there was some reluctance upon your advice, but he did it anyway.

Taking your fingers in between his, he said, “Whatever this is, it’s nothing that can’t be solved with a little bit of acting. As I said before, I’ve studied early Cavaugh extensively. Just leave this to me.”

It almost felt like your hand had been taken by a vice grip by the way he held it. You gawked, but no words would form. No matter what he thought, no amount of acting or studying would prepare him for the truth of things.

Ignoring the shaking in your body, the nausea that swirled in your stomach like a raging storm at the thought of having to act on a level like _this,_ and the fact that your hand was sweating against his, you slowly made your way toward the arch.

When you were only a few feet from the beacon of the bane of your existence, the fake friar stopped you with his hand and reached to one of the men in the crowd for something.

“Are you going to reveal what’s _really_ happening?” Ignis whispered to you while the fake friar remained busy, whispering to the crowd, and pulled back with a blue book in hand. It was clearly a cosmogony magazine. Tacky.

“Marriage,” you exchanged, although, not quite as low as Ignis had been. “M-A-R-R-I-A-G-E. Wish you’d stayed out of it, now, huh?”

He didn’t say anything, which led you to look at him. He had turned nearly white.

“You _must_ be joking,” he hissed.

Before you could retort with, “I never joke about my womanhood,” the fake friar waved his free hand in front of you, uttering some mumbo-jumbo that didn’t sound anything like a dead language the gods would communicate in.

For a moment, you really thought that Ignis was going to run away. You couldn’t blame him if he did. You were wondering why you hadn’t done that already.

“Hexatheon slumbering under the mountain, Hexatheon watching from in the sky, may your blessings be upon this holy union.”

Oh, gods. Was this for real? This wasn’t an _actual_ wedding, right? Ignis’ hand tightened against yours, probably wondering the same thing. So much for those acting lessons he was bragging about. You were willing to bet that not even Nyx had been this nervous. Well, supposedly, he’d already been drinking, so that might’ve had something to do with it.

The fake friar was still talking, “…in sickness, and in health…”

This was horrible. Was anyone watching? The last thing you needed were rumors about _you and Ignis getting married at faire._ You wanted to look around, but feared that the fake friar would scold you for ruining your own fake wedding. 

“…and grant them the strength to carry on…”

Was he done? Oh, gods, please say that he was done. Your hands were so slick with sweat that they almost slipped out of Ignis’ grasp, or, he in yours, anyway. The fake friar had to be done because he presented you both with matching black, twine rings, totally different from what Crowe and Nyx had been wearing. Maybe they were personalized. You pursed your lips together as you slid it over your left ring finger, and refused to look at Ignis as he did the same.

“For as long as you are at this Fantasy Faire, you are faire husband and wife. If the rings are removed and you are found out, by my council or myself, there will be no mercy for you,” the fake friar said before nodding. Oh, joy. No mercy. “You may now seal your vows with an act of passion.”

“Woah, wait,” and, “I must protest,” left both yours and Ignis’ lips in unison before shooting glances at each other. There would be no “act of passion” making on your watch. You hardly even knew the guy, and, cute as he was, you were pretty sure he still harbored some feelings of resentment toward you, newlyfriends or not.

The fake friar gestured to the rings you both wore. “A holy matrimony is not complete without the everlasting promise of love that can only be found in true love’s kiss.”

This was outrageous. What if you _had_ had to marry a grand-pop-pop? You knew it was all in good fun and games at a pleasure faire, even a Fantasy Faire, but you found it difficult to imagine even Nyx and Crowe having to kiss to get out of a wedding toll.

Then again, Crowe had seemed rather agitated yesterday when you’d first seen her. Perhaps _this_ had been why. 

The color drained from Ignis’ face, and no amount of acting classes could disguise his discomfort toward the situation. Of this, you were certain, especially because you weren’t doing any better yourself. Pretending to get married, you were amicable with—ish. But kissing the royal adviser, even as an act, crossed the line. At least for him, you figured.

“We can just turn around,” you said to him. “There are at least three other ways we can get back to camp. Yeah, they might take a while longer, but this is—”

“My good sir,” the fake friar interrupted, “is she not _woman_ enough for you? Have you just committed a sin in the eyes of the gods by vowing to hold her forever, when you have no desire to place a tender kiss upon her rosy lips? Nay, thou aren’t a man at all, good sir! Such mortification upon us and the gods!”

This geezer was really putting on a show, and all he was doing was drawing the attention of a passing crowd. They’d begun to gather, too. Fortunately for you, you knew none of them.

Eyes back to Ignis, who refused to look at you, you said, “Come on, Iggy. Let’s turn around and go—”

His lips smashed down on yours in the most painful and startling kiss you’d ever had. His nose smacked yours, and he pressed so hard against your face that the skin of your lips pinched between your teeth as you spoke in mid-word. You couldn’t even process that someone was, literally, in your face right then.

As quick as it had come, he’d pulled back and grabbed your hand. Cheers from the crowd were less than comforting, and you hated their applause. The fake friar stepped back to let you pass under the arch, and you wanted to knee him in the groin, if only to make you feel better.

Ignis dropped your hand as soon as you exited to the other side and you matched paces until you were long gone from the trolling troll toll, but the memory was far from out of sight.

“About that…” you began.

“Indeed,” he finished.

“We never…” you started again.

“Indeed,” he agreed.

Maybe that was his way of apologizing for kissing you without permission, and he definitely deserved a slap for that one. You’d consider it once the shock of it actually wore off.

\/\/\/

Silently, you veered right and he left when you came to the fork at the campground. There were no promises of meeting up later, no formal apology or explanation for what had happened or why.

Just.

Silence.

You didn’t get far before a whistle stirred you back into the world of realizing things, and you whirled on your feet long enough to recognize a beaming Nyx, waving at you with a dangerous twinkle in his eyes. That could only mean one thing.

“So, you had to do it, too,” he said when he got close enough. You had no idea what he was talking about. At least, you hoped you had no idea. But, when he nudged your shoulder with his own, you knew exactly what he was referring to.

“Shut up,” you hissed and turned back to face the road toward your campground.

He slung an arm around your shoulder and made you walk stupid, zig-zagging from one side to the other.

“Crowe slapped me when I kissed her, so I’d consider Scientia lucky,” he said into your ear.

You threw his arm from off of you and were so very close to giving him the slugging you’d been saving for the royal adviser.

“Don’t you dare tell a soul,” you said through gritted teeth, long and slow to enunciate the point.

His only retort was laughter.

“I’m surprised you went through with it, to be honest,” he said and followed side-by-side with you as you walked. “They ambushed Crowe with no real warning, so I tried to help out until I realized what was happening far too late. Kind of like Scientia.”

You groaned and smoothed your face with your hands. Good thing you weren’t wearing proper makeup this time. You couldn’t believe that Nyx had witnessed the wedding.

“And you didn’t _stop_ them?” you asked.

He held up his hand, adorned with the same band you’d seen the day before. “And do what? I’m already a married man, Danny. I wanted to warn you before you walked away though. You know, when I was talking with Miles, Elea, and Jenica? I saw those guys setting up in the street before I found you at the food court.”

Sure, he did.

“I think Scientia’s taking it far worse than you,” he continued. “Did you see his face? I thought he was going to vomit.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from feeling offended. What, did he think so little of you that even looking at you made him want to throw up? “Before or _after_ he kissed me?”

“Most definitely before. I’m still in shock that he had the cajones to kiss you.”

Despite Nyx’s poor attempt at using Lestallum slang, you understood the meaning quite clearly, and weren’t the only one surprised at Ignis’ bold move.

“Well,” you said, “I’m definitely feeling sick _after._ ”

“What, was he a bad kisser?”

You shrugged. “There wasn’t much time to find out. He literally cracked his skull against mine, busted my nose and lips open, broke my teeth, and then yanked me through the archway.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Scientia,” he said with a foul, cruel smile. You hated him sometimes.

Turning to shove him until he stumbled off the paved path, you snapped, “ _Don’t_ call me that. You’re married to Crowe.”

“At least I _like_ who I’m married to. I didn’t flood my wife’s office.”

He was ready for you when you went to smack him again, and he seized you in a tight garula hug that had you gasping for air. Spinning you around and around, he promised that he would suffer through unimaginable torture before revealing that you’d gotten married without inviting anyone. Hell, he even complained that you hadn’t asked if he’d be the best man. He wouldn’t listen to any excuses, no matter how outlandish or stupid they were.

But, when he least expected it, you promised yourself that you’d give him that good smack, garula hugs be damned.

\/\/\/

Your Glaive friends enjoyed Libertus’ breakfast while you utilized Crowe’s makeup and pocket mirror. Then, you cleaned the dried drizzle from off of your bodice. Your friends appeared in better spirits than the night before, and you did your best to put the wedding experience out of your mind. Luckily, no one had been observant enough to spot the shiny new ring on your finger, and Nyx kept as cool as a Lucian cucumber about it. You wondered how long he’d last before cracking, but, as the morning went on, you felt pretty confident about his promise, especially when he kept dodging questions from Libertus and Crowe about where he’d been last night.

When the four of you finally strolled into faire, you and Nyx had to compromise over the events that you both wanted to see or participate in, especially since some of them overlapped each other with no second showing or plan. You wanted to see the joust again, but forewent the show to join the others in the Grown-Up Scavenger Hunt. The list tested your wits—mentally, that was. After all, some of the things to find had you embarrassed something fierce, and you thought that you could handle just about anything flirty in nature. Gladio tested your boundaries in one direction, but “finding a native dancer to have them teach you a dance” was on a whole different level.

Then again, you _had_ just gotten married and kissed not even two hours ago. You wondered if there was a place where you could obtain a faire divorce.

You read the list to yourself at least three times: Go to the sausage booth and ask to eat their ten-incher, find Brewmaster Beardsley, give him a kiss and then drink from his mighty flask (There was a fight between Crowe and Libertus as to who had to conduct that one, since you and Nyx were tied for having to do the most of all of the other humiliating acts on the list, and there were _many._ ), and your absolute favorite—Find the BadAssKateers and challenge them to a duel. Nyx accepted that task, being the hero and all (as he assured everyone), but you fell to pieces when the duel ended up being a contest of who the most elegant prima ballerina was to dance to Catoblepas Lake.

Never before had you seen an elegant and pissed off toe-dancer like Nyx.

Grown-Up Scavenger Hunt was fucking awesome.

You recounted his graceful turns and sweeps through the air over your much anticipated Meldacio Meat Pie, and your trolly friends, Libertus and Crowe, definitely helped make matters worse. By the end of lunch, Nyx was most certainly not laughing anymore.

After, you found a music booth, the merchant also being the one responsible for carving the woodwind and stringed instruments. You chatted with him for a long time, hardly noticing that your Glaive friends had gone on without you. Apparently, the merchant, whom introduced himself as Jahn, was based out of Accordo, Altissia more specifically. He’d been a practicing musician since childhood, playing across the country in the family band. After the Empire took hold, he and his family fled overseas, where King Mors kindly accepted the refugees into his land.

At the end of the long conversation, you spent the hundred and fifty bones you didn’t have on a brand new whistle made from Grayhazel wood that you dubbed, “Angelo II, the Sequel.” After bidding Jahn farewell and snagging one of his business cards, you went searching for your friends. You had zero idea where they would’ve gone, and hoped that they hadn’t settled down at some show without you. Crowe said she’d been in a shopping mood, so you inwardly held her to that.

Fifteen minutes of unsuccessful searching landed you in front of The King’s Court, punishment inducing torture devices at the ready. Gladio and Prompto, both in costume, hovered over a small, wooden table, a voluptuous woman dressed in a patterned bodice with red skirt helping them with whatever they were doing. Curious and tired of seeking out your lost companions, you moseyed on over to them.

“What’s going on?” you began, foregoing any real greeting.

The court looked a tad empty, the bailiffs, magistrate, and some fantasy wenches standing around, some with large, wooden buckets and metal pitchers in hand. You missed the wooden jail cell on your first walkthrough the day before, and the giant stage with two podiums at the center. Behind them was a framed, hanging picture of (whom you thought to be) King Mors.

He looked chummier than you pictured him to be, but the picture was a painting, so it probably wasn’t an accurate representation.

Gladio and Prompto glanced up, and the former grinned at you.

“Flamey,” he greeted and held up a coffee-stain colored paper. You thought that it might be made from cardstock. “We’re filling out an arrest warrant.”

“It’s for Noct,” Prompto said, but it appeared to be a struggle to get out. He looked like he was trying pretty damn hard not to laugh.

Staring at them for only a few moments, you eventually deadpanned, “You’re going to have the prince arrested?”

Both made quick movements toward you, and Gladio would’ve pushed his hand over your mouth if your ninja-like reflects that you didn’t have during the Chocobo and Moogle festival hadn’t kicked in. Hopping out of reach, you were somewhere between hissing and giggling out an apology, forgetting that Noctis’ presence was supposed to be incognito, since he was among commoners and potential assassins. Gladio passed the warrant over to you to examine.

Just as they said, Noctis’ name was at the top of the blank denoting the guilty, and that he had been charged by “Good, Upstanding Citizens of Insomnia.” Apparently, the asking price for a warrant was only two bones, which made it pretty damn easy for anyone to get arrested. Although the warrant asked that the perpetrator be truly guilty (even having the accuser initial another blank to swear that the crimes were true), the crimes Gladio and Prompto were accusing Noctis of were downright outrageous.

“Soberness at Fantasy Faire,” you read off in low tones as to not draw attention. “Being a royal pain—yeah, I can see this one. In need of a fashion makeover?”

“I wanted to be the warrior,” Prompto said, “but he made me be the thief.”

Shrugging, you said, “But you look more like the thief.”

“Keep reading, Flamey,” Gladio interjected. “We gotta get that warrant in while Prom and I still know where our perpetrator is.”

“And where is he?” you asked.

He simply pointed back to the warrant and you rolled your eyes.

Then your face flatlined. “Melon smuggling?”

“Exactly.” Gladio smirked and told you to flip the warrant over.

There, in the very middle of the warrant, was the suspect composite sheet, with a place to draw the accused, and written features to accent the composite. You didn’t know who had drawn Noctis in such effigy, but you could’ve died laughing. A circle for a face, squinty eyes, and a big, fat frown highlighted His Majesty’s face, as well as a poor attempt at his hair and King’s Knight costume. In each hand, he held two melons—totally different than what you’d pictured the smuggling charge to be—and your eyes scanned the marked features.

Male, with a question mark next to it, with both “getting’ on in years” and “older than dirt” marked for his age. If twenty was considered “older than dirt,” then what were you called? “‘Bout that tall,” and “Skinny as a twig” were a little more accurate, as well as a fish drawn in the blank for “Distinguishing features.” When you couldn’t stop laughing, Gladio snatched the warrant from your hand with a laugh of his own, and passed it to the waiting wench at the table.

“We gotta escort the bailiff to where Noct’s hanging out,” Prompto said. “You should stay and watch the show.”

You thought about it for a moment, but had no idea where your Glaive friends were. Since they’d abandoned you first, you couldn’t see the harm in staying to watch Noctis get the shit soaked out of him.

“I’ll be here when you get back,” you said.

They left with a tall man dressed in chain mail, a black and white sash hanging from his shoulder down to his waist. The hilt of a sheathed sword tapped against his hip as he and the turncoat retainers left to arrest the future king of Insomnia.

The wench asked if you wanted to fill out a warrant and, while the offer sounded tempting, especially since anyone you could think of was up for game, you turned her down. The court was cordoned off by a small, wooden fence and several straw bales in front for rubbernecking patrons to spectate. Today, you couldn’t wait to be one of those.

As you walked toward a bale, grabbing the sides of your dress to prepare to lift so that you could sit comfortably, someone called your name.

Dropping your hands, you turned, and a man you’d never seen before approached you. You did, however, recognize the black and white sash over his chest. Quirking an eyebrow, he echoed your name again and asked you to confirm it.

“Have we met?” you asked.

Shaking his head, he said, “I’d like to show you a magic trick, lass. If you’ll hold out your hands for me?”

The last trick you saw involved you getting married to a stuffy royal adviser. When you hesitated, he helped you along by holding your hands up for you.

“Now then, close your eyes,” he said. You refused. He appeared indifferent. “Suit yourself,” and he stuffed your hands through two rope openings and pulled until your wrists clanked together.

Eyes shooting down at your hands, you wondered why the first thought you had was, “Rope handcuffs. Nifty.”

“On ye get,” he said and pulled you by the end of his rope, like a leash.

“Wait, wait, wait,” you protested and tried to resist. Even if this was supposed to be for pretend or whatever, he was still quite strong. Unable to stop, you said, “What’s going on? Why am I being arrested?”

Only then did he stop and produce the same colored warrant Gladio had. “Ah, begging your pardon.” As he read the charges, you spotted the effigy of your own self highlighted on the back: Big circle boobs, a trollish face, some ugly ass dress that looked nothing like yours, and a guitar in one hand and (what you thought to be) a tin whistle in the other.

“You’ve been charged with soberness at faire, melon smuggling, in need of a fashion makeover and…” He lifted his eyes over the paper just enough to see you, “…not being _faire._ ”

You blanched. “What the hell does that one even mean? I mean, sure, I haven’t had anything to drink yet, but that’s going a little far saying that I need a makeover. And what’s ‘not being faire?’ _Melon_ smuggling?”

He patted your wrists with the warrant and pulled you forward again. “You can tell it all to His Magistrate, lass.”

Caught somewhere between telling the bailiff off and being passive for fear of causing a scene, he pushed you into the jail cell, took the rope cuffs off, and shut it behind you. Seizing the bars that were clearly PVC piping painted black, you stared out at the world around you. The hell? Who had you arrested and why? Could it have been Gladio and Prompto, and that had been the real reason they left you alone? 

Your eyes flickered to the gathering crowd as the mighty magistrate bellowed out for everyone to “come witness the public execution.” Dressed in garments of blue and gold with a big, feathery tricorne, he paraded the length of his court, making theatrical gestures and successfully rallying the patrons against you. Your grip on the bars tightened, feeling so very, very confused. Another figure, dressed as a masked executioner, of course, stood next to the magistrate. You couldn’t see his face because of the nylon mask, but you almost felt that he was staring at you.

A distinct whistle caused you to divert your attention, and Nyx waved in between Crowe, Libertus, and Pelna.

Oh. There was the rat bastard who had you arrested. You should’ve known.

“I hate you,” you shouted at him, and he held a hand to his ear and mouthed the word, “What?” right back at you.

In each of their hands, minus Pelna, who was dressed in Glaive uniform, were tankards. Most likely with alcohol. At least you knew where they went after ditching you at Jahn’s. Crowe gave you a look and a shake of the head to indicate that she shouldn’t be held responsible for your current situation, and Libertus talked to Pelna almost like he was avoiding your eyes, especially with the smile quivering to expose his true feelings.

How…humiliating.

You stood in the back of the cell, trying to appear small and unnoticeable while you plotted your brother’s demise.

A commotion in the streets stirred you back to the bars, and a crowd leading into the court threatened your own unwarranted laughter. Gladio and Prompto followed next to a struggling Noctis, who had one cuff looped around his wrist with a plastic, child’s sized fishing pole in the other. Somewhere along the way, they’d acquired three more bailiffs, all who had to help push the prince along. His retainers were snickering something fierce, and he threatened them in every way possible.

The cuff removed, he was thrown into the jail cell next to you, the defeated and pathetic looking fishing pole in one hand. You hopped to one side of the cell as he hit the back wall, and shifted your eyes to the bailiffs guarding the jail around you. Although they stood shoulder to shoulder, you peered out between the slits between the bodies of the gathering crowd, mainly consisting of Crownsguard and Glaives. You zoned in on Cor and Ignis, who watched the scene unfold, and neither appeared to be very amused.

“Assholes,” Noctis snapped and flung himself against the bars. He pressed himself into them and shouted, “Do you have _any_ idea what you just cost me?”

The question went unanswered, lost in the hullabaloo of the impending punishments.

So you took the opportunity to ask when it seemed obvious that everyone else was too busy to.

His eyes shifted to you, and he said, “They arrested you, too? That’s kind of rude.”

“The Glaives had me arrested,” you said, and would’ve signaled them out with a point of the finger, but the bailiffs continued to block the way. “What did they cost you?”

Grumbling, he shook the pole at you and said, “There’s a fishing booth on the other side of the joust that has _the_ rare Rubygold Moogle Lure from the _only_ Moogle and Chocobo Festival featured here in Insomnia. From _three years ago._ ” Yes, you remembered. He continued, “I missed the lure when it came to the city, and the only place that might have it is a little ma and pa shop in Accordo, but I haven’t found it, yet.” For a moment, you thought he was going to break the pole over his knee. “And I _almost_ won the damn thing before these goons and my _not-friends_ showed up to have me arrested.”

You did your best to show sympathy, but his dilemma almost had you snickering. You could picture it now: him casting back as you’d seen him down at the Candace Faire Fruit Festival, a big grin on his face, competing in whatever contest the booth was offering to win the rare lure of a lifetime, and then the bailiff slapping the rope handcuff over his wrist, and dragging him away, screaming. Yes, most definitely screaming. The fact that he’d even been able to leave with the booth’s fishing pole in hand was priceless.

“I’m sorry,” was all you could come up with, but really couldn’t say that you’d meant it, not with the way your lips trembled with oncoming laughter.

He rolled his eyes and looked out through the cell bars, not that either of you could see much. You were pretty sure that Talcott and Iris had joined the rank of spectators, and there was that brunette you’d seen riding with Iris back at the soccer game. She took a place next to Cor and whispered something to him. They both appeared so out of place within the sea of dressed patrons and actors. Gladio and Prompto high-fived each other, and you were pretty sure that, from the scowl on Ignis’ face and how fast his lips were moving, he was scolding them. Pretty hard.

The magistrate continued to inspire the crowd with promises of executions, hangings, and torture. The other bailiffs and wenches joined in the cheer, and you shot a look to Noctis, which was followed by a defeated sigh.

“Guess we’re going out together, huh?” you asked.

He, on the other hand, wore his arrogant smirk quite well. “Sorry, but I’ve got a lure to win. I don’t have time to be executed.”

Quirking a brow, you said, “Uh, I’m not sure you’ve got a choice in the matter. These guys were paid to arrest and punish you.”

“That may be true, but I pay certain people to protect and take my place for a reason.”

Before you could question exactly what he meant by that, he apologized for your misfortune before one of the bailiffs opened the cell to take him by his free hand. You gawked, and he waved you goodbye with the fishing pole, the red bob at the end jouncing from the line as he did so. The barred door closed behind him, leaving you feeling both dejected and confused. He had a plan to escape that didn’t include you.

You hoped that that lure was gone by the time he got back to the fishing booth.

The bailiffs dispersed around the prince, who was guided up to the podium on the stage. A “guilty” sign that had been turned into a fashionable rope necklace was placed over his head, but he didn’t appear to mind. The magistrate placed himself at his own judge’s podium and slammed the gavel many times until the animate crowd stilled. He read the charges, and Noctis’ displeasure grew at each one. He glared at Prompto and Gladio, especially when the picture of effigy was revealed and the magistrate asked the crowd if it was a true likeness of the accused.

You watched from inside the cell, dying from laughter, almost forgetting that you were to be sentenced next. Then came time for the distributed punishment.

“Anything to say in your defense, lad?” the magistrate asked, the air around you so quiet that you could hear a chocobo’s feather drop.

Noctis shrugged and stared the crowd down. There were so many Glaive and Crownsguard gathered that you assumed that the whole brigade had come to either save the prince or offer their services in dispensing the punishment. Gods, you hoped for the latter since he left you to the voretooths.

“Well,” he said, almost too low for you to hear. You’d heard from Gladio before that, for a prince, he was pretty crappy at public speaking…and public negotiations…and anything public. He’d often have to look to his friends for help. Noctis cleared his throat and began again, “I think that the time’s come for my trusted adviser to fulfill his role.”

Even though you couldn’t see him from deep within the growing crowd, you couldn’t mistake Ignis’ sharp, “What?”

“That’s right,” Noctis went on, caring neither that he was jeopardizing the revelation of his identity to a bunch of unsuspecting patrons, nor that he was about to throw one of his best friends under the bus. Damn, that lure must’ve meant a lot to him. Talk about priorities and loyalty. “I’m Ray Jack, destined for legendary greatness.” He held the pole up for Ignis to see. “Can’t be great while I’m under arrest, can I?”

Ray Jack—that was it. The warrior’s name from King’s Knight. You remembered now.

Someone must’ve pushed Ignis to the front of the crowd, because the poor man stumbled out into the open, and whirled his attention on all who’d gathered there.

Then, he turned his sights on Noctis. “You can’t be… _serious._ ”

“Oh, I _am_ serious. I’ve a lure to rescue from the grips of a certain aquatic booth.”

This, apparently, did not please Iggy. He made many faces that belied the true nature of the particular things he wanted to say. Of them all, you were able to gather that Ignis had a _very specific_ role as the royal adviser, including making himself into a sacrificial piece in order to keep His Majesty safe. And that seemed to be the very exact thing Noctis was asking of him. You wondered if such a non-life threatening request could be carried out in this way. But, from the way Noctis had phrased it to you, it appeared that a retainer’s role was to obey all commands of the royals, ludicrous or not.

And, Shiva, was this request ludicrous.

“Begging your pardon,” Ignis began again, drawing out the words long and slow, “but the garments of said adviser are not to be defaced in any way, as they are not his to mar.”

Noctis shrugged again. “Bummer.”

Gladio cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “For Ramuh’s sake, just take your punishment like a man, already.”

Noctis’ eyes continued to pierce Ignis’, but Ignis did a marvelous job of holding his own stare down.

Eventually, Noctis said, “Ignis…I need to be protected.”

Oh, gods, he was making it personal. What an awful, dirty trick.

Ignis stood there for a long while, his eyes searching Noctis’, for what, you couldn’t be sure, but when he sighed and took a step into the court, Gladio let loose a loud and long, “Booooooo!” that had the crowd echoing the sentiment.

“And what, my good man, have you to offer in the way of protection?” the magistrate bellowed over the clamoring crowd, although you were sure that most couldn’t hear him.

The noise died out long enough for a very unenthused Ignis to reach into the leather pouch attached to his hip and retrieve his wallet.

“I’m afraid that the man you have in custody there is under diplomatic immunity.” He took much longer getting out the next set of words, “And I have the papers to prove it.”

All that he had was a wad of cash, and he passed it to the magistrate.

“Nothing to see, here!” the bailiffs chanted and made a barricaded of linked arms in front of Ignis, the magistrate, and the bribery going on behind the podium. “Nothing to see!”

“Iggy, you sellout!” came Gladio’s complaint, but the words and inflection died in the exuberance of the crowd.

“Yes, yes,” the magistrate kept his head tucked back under the podium, but, from your position in the cell, you could clearly see him counting the stack of Ignis’ money. “It does appear that all of the necessary paperwork is in order here.” Then, he stood erect and focused in on the royal adviser. Clearly, he wasn’t going to let the matter and such a big crowd go without a fight. This must’ve been what Ignis had been anticipating all along. “There is still the concern of how these papers came into your possession, my good man.”

“Thief! Thief!” came from within the crowd, and you were pretty sure Nyx started it. You couldn’t be entirely sure, because it only took three seconds flat for the rest of the crowd to jump on the thief train.

“I do believe the people have a point,” the magistrate said. Then, using his gavel to gesture to Ignis, he said, “Bailiffs, arrest that man.”

As the bailiffs jumped on him like a football tackle, the “Guilty” sign was removed from Noctis’ head, and the magistrate offered a sincere apology for having wasted his time. The last things you saw were Noctis’ head of hair and the fishing pole bouncing from down off the stage until it disappeared into the crowd, never once stopping to check in on the friend he’d thrown under the bus or acknowledge Gladio’s, “Coward!” retort. He just kept going, probably back to the fishing booth.

Damn. That lure must’ve meant a lot to him.

You stepped back just as Ignis was tossed into the jail cell with you, his glasses knocked askew and the wallet in his hand snatched away by one of the bailiffs. Allowing him a moment to compose himself before making your presence known, you made a silent complaint to the gods, asking why they were so insistent on force-feeding bad luck to you, when you were such a devout and upstanding model to the Hexatheon. Clearly, they didn’t think so.

Well, you’d see about that, and began to dig through your pouch. If Noctis could bribe his way out of getting soaked, then so could you.

The royal adviser whirled on you and offered a stare that indicated that he was only seeing your presence for the first time. His annoyance shined through his sigh.

“I’m inclined to believe that you’re bad luck,” he said in a very matter-of-fact tone.

Wow. So much for newlyfriends. “I could say the same about you.”

“This entire faire has been one blunder after another, and all have involved you.”

Your eyes snapped to attention long enough to give him a killer glare, and barked back, “Hey, _you’re_ the one who walked in on me naked and then jumped into the deep end of the pool with those idiots at the wedding arch. I never told you to do that, much less _kiss_ me, you dolt.”

You were pretty fortunate that no one could hear you over the roaring crowd, demanding that justice be served in The King’s Court.

His breath hitched and he momentarily glanced away. “I was under the assumption that we were past all of that.”

“Yeah, me, too.”

“Are you the kind of person who continues to beat a dead chocobo, then?”

Your eyes returned to your bag, fingers grabbing at everything inside—phone, lip gloss, hand lotion—then you touched pleather. As you fished your wallet out from down at the bottom, you retorted, “Oh, stick some gyshal greens in your chocobo hole, Iggy.” Waving the wallet at him, you added, “I’m getting out of here.”

“I highly doubt that your kind of bribery will work in this matter.”

You flipped the wallet open and grabbed the little bit of cash you had left. “No place for naysayers, sir.”

Upon first glance, the wad looked astounding, until you flipped through the tenth single in that stack and realized that you were coming up pretty damn dry.

“Don’t even _think_ about it, Danny,” came an evil, horrible, _terrible_ voice from the same kind of man. Eyes shooting up, you spotted Nyx at the front of the crowd, waving a stack of cash, much larger than yours, for you to see. You were also pretty sure that his stack had bills of _actual_ incremental value to them, instead of just singles. “We can go round and round for hours, but I’m pretty sure I’ve got more to throw away than you.”

Your eyes darted back to the stack in your hands. Had you really spent that much? You’d come with nearly four-hundred bones. You tried to calm the panic in you as you recounted what you could’ve possibly spent the four-hundred on. It was possible that you had dropped some at one point or another. There was the corset and bodice…okay. And the beer…several of them…and mead…and the dynoaevis leg…and the wooden whistle from Jahn’s…and then the meat pie for lunch…

Shit.

“A little short?” Ignis asked.

You snapped the wallet closed with one hand. “Shut up.”

Avoiding Nyx’s pompous smile, and the traitorous Glaives around him, you caught sight of the executioner from earlier having a private conversation with the magistrate at the back of the stage.

Still watching them, you said, “So why did you take Noct’s place? You could’ve wiped your hands clean of it.”

“If only it were that simple,” Ignis said. “He used a particular phrase that we, as retainers, are unable to deny, in case the struggle is just.”

“What, that he needed your protection? Sounded like a ruse to me.”

Ignis ran a finger down the PVC pipe bar. “Be that as it may, we are not qualified to examine his thoughts and feelings. We can only take him at his word.” Then, he rolled his eyes. “Of course, he tends to abuse it quite a bit. Gladio’s become more resistant with complying, which is against our commands from the king. When that happens, I step in.”

“Sounds very noble,” you said, but your curiosity piqued at the way that both the executioner and magistrate kept sending glances at you. It made you uncomfortable.

Finally, the magistrate gestured to you with the gavel. “Place them both on the rack.”

“Huh?” fell from your mouth before you could grasp the situation. “What?”

“Wonderful,” Ignis muttered from next to you and tsked.

The door opened and you were taken by the hand by the same bailiff that had escorted Noctis to the stage. Another motioned for Ignis to come out. Your head whipped to the magistrate, all while allowing yourself to be guided to the rack. The board sat at a slant, propped up by two stacked straw bales. The executioner left his place by the magistrate’s side and made his way toward you. 

Ignis lay on one side of the rack, while the bailiff gently deposited you on the rack next to him. Clearly, the torture device sat only one, but, today, it was going to fit both of you, regardless. The bailiff squished you both together so that, if you just barely turned on your side, you’d roll right on top of Ignis. The bailiff took your right hand and fed it through the manacle at the top, and Iggy’s left through the other. Although at a slant, your feet rested comfortably on a piece of wood drilled horizontally at the bottom.

“What about my trial?” you asked into the air.

“You don’t get one,” you thought you heard from the executioner’s voice as he neared you, but it was hard to hear through the muffle of the nylon mask. 

You narrowed your eyes at the executioner. “And why the hell not? Ray Jack did.”

The executioner lifted the nylon mask from his face just enough for you to recognize Sonitus’ face. At the very sight of your astonishment, he smirked.

“Because you’re right where you deserve to be. I’m gonna get a kick out of this.” His eyes flitted to Ignis, whom you imagined had also recognized the Glaive from the night before. “While His Majesty would’ve been a hoot to drub, I think I like this better.”

He moved just before your knee could make contact with his chest, but his laugh echoed behind him as he walked toward a large barrel, filled with water, you imagined, as deduced by all of the wooden buckets and tin pitchers gathered around it. You growled and screamed, but it was lost on everyone as the crowd’s cheers blared against you like a roaring waterfall. You hardly even heard the bailiff ask if there was anything you wanted him to remove that you didn’t want getting soaked. He simply chuckled at your, “All of me,” response, and you and Ignis each used your free hands to remove the leather pouches at your waists.

“If you’ll hold onto my spectacles, as well,” the royal adviser added before pulling them from his face.

Only after the bailiff went away did you turn your head to him, and, if you didn’t already know better, you would’ve sworn you were staring at a new man.

He blinked several times at you, perhaps uncomfortable under your intense gaze. “Yes?”

“You look…” Only now were you able to see how transparent his eyes were without the glasses to hide them. They reminded you of the ocean floor back home, when you’d go swimming in Galdin Quay. There was a little indentation on either side of his nose from where the glasses sat, but he looked more dignified without them, just like the model on some tabloid that you, once before, thought he’d been. It was strange how a little accessory such as glasses could change the appearance of a person entirely. Shaking your head, you averted your gaze. “Never mind.”

You heard him make a sound that indicated that he’d planned to make a return comment, but then the coldest water you’d ever felt smashed into your head, and you screamed in a pitch you didn’t know you had. Ignis joined you on that note, and, once you recovered from the shock and water dripping down your neck and sides of your head, Prompto’s camera bombarded you with a rather rude flash. It was joined by several others as many others, including Nyx, took pictures of your active punishment. Libertus even joked about livestreaming it.

“Fuck you!” you screamed at him, causing him to stiffen in shock.

It came just as buckets from each side rained down upon you, each from giggling wenches. It felt like a thousand needles piercing you all over your body, shivers escaping through your fingers and toes. Ignis sputtered and turned his head to cough into his shoulder, and the shadow of one of the bailiffs caused you to instinctively bury your face into the sopping fabric of his arm.

The bailiff chuckled, and the cold breeze hit your calf when he lifted your dress just enough to hurl the water from the pitcher up your thighs and into your lap. He avoided your kick and you flipped onto your side as the water pooled in the loose folds of your dress, and you shivered as the rest trailed down your thighs and calves. Even your underwear stuck to your skin.

You were pretty sure Ignis breathed some terrible curse word, which stunned the living Ramuh out of you. You thought he’d been beyond that kind of language.

“I’ll get him back,” Ignis stammered out, eyes squeezed shut. His normally styled hair fell all around his face, and, if you hadn’t thought so before, you definitely could’ve sworn you were staring at a stranger now. “Noct, I’ll have my revenge, yet.”

“Iggy,” came a voice from the crowd, and you both looked up just enough to be blinded by Prompto’s camera flash.

“Bloody well knock it off,” the adviser snapped, sliding his knees up to his chest to bury his face in them. “Prompto, I swear—”

The threat died on his lips as another attack came from behind, powerful enough to strike the crowd in front of you. Nyx and Prompto, who’d been at the forefront, jumped backward into those around them. While they tripped over each other, you witnessed the worst of it all. Sonitus, who’d pulled the mask back over his face, stalked closer to you, carrying a large wooden bucket filled to the brim with water. Your eyes widened and, through gritted teeth, you warned him not to come any closer.

The remaining wenches and bailiffs scattered like beetles as he reared the bucket back and let the water sail like a watery rainbow over you. Ignis squeezed your hand and you braced yourself for impact.

The slap of the water came harder and colder than any of the other buckets had, and your mind locked up as you suffered through the worst brain freeze you’d ever come to know. For a moment, you couldn’t be sure if it was you screaming or the crowd, but your body froze into position long after the water dripped through the cracks of the boards, and from off your body.

With a simple nod from the magistrate, you were released from the torture device. Bulleting toward the front of the crowd, you vaulted over the fence, skipping the straw bales altogether, and ambushed Nyx in a garula hug that had made his earlier attack pale in comparison. He shouted and yelled and commanded that you get off him, but you clung like an oversized leech to his frame. No amount of pushing or shoving would budge you, and the only time you let go was when _you_ felt like it because then you jumped on Libertus and soaked the shit out of him.

Nyx groaned and complained about how he felt like he’d been bathed in costume, but his whining lulled to silence at the sound of Libertus’ booming voice as he struggled to free himself from you. You were a powerful leech, you realized, especially if two great Glaives like Nyx and Libertus couldn’t shake you. You heard Crowe ask you to take mercy on her, as _she_ had done her best to talk the boys out of your arrest. You considered her words as the attack went on and decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. After all, she’d helped buy the bodice that was now utterly destroyed.

Finally dropping to your feet, you told them both to piss off, yanked your leather pouch back from the bailiff, and stormed through the crowd toward the campground, shivering and cold.

You’d had enough of Fantasy Faire to last you a lifetime. Next year, you’d rather scrub shitters.

\/\/\/

The sun looked as ready to set as you felt by the time you’d changed out of garb, flinging the sopping mess that was sure to mildew by morning into a trash bag. Leaving it to rot, as it were, outside your tent, you grabbed one of the blankets on top of your sleeping bag. You wrapped yourself like a cocoon until you soaked the fabric and it stunk of pipe water. Rather than ruin your Li’l Malbuddy pajamas by smelling like a fishy, stinky pipe, you stole Nyx’s clothes from the night before and made sure you were completely dry before changing into them.

No one had come to check in on you, and that was good, and they probably knew it, too. The drums sounded the march of the last parade, and you bitterly bade farewell to the Fantasy Faire until next year, if there was such a thing as it coming too soon. If you ever decided to do it again, you were most definitely tackling it alone. For a brief moment, you wondered how Ignis was faring, and if he’d given Noctis that promised scolding of a lifetime he’d mentioned during the unjust drubbing.

Speaking of unjust, you found your mind already wandering to the future plan of getting Sonitus back, and how you would rain judgment down so hard upon him that he’d swear that Ramuh had done it. You couldn’t believe that he’d gotten the last laugh after the crap they’d pulled the night before. You’d end him and Tredd. Oh, _yes,_ you would.

You were still wringing water out of your hair, seated in a camp chair in front of an empty fire pit, by the time a large silhouette entered into your camp. The first several stars peaked through the last of the ice blue stream in the sky, just before it faded into a velvet black blanket. You hadn’t had the chance, nor desire, to start the campfire yet, and it wasn’t until the stranger spoke first that you recognized your visitor.

“How’re you doing?” Gladio asked, his voice almost somber and apologetic.

You weren’t sure how you felt by his arrival. A part of you was happy that it wasn’t Nyx or Libertus, but another part of you shook, and not from the cold. Knowing how the big guy felt made you slightly uncomfortable. You still weren’t sure how to take it.

In words that came out in a low mumble, you said, “Cold and pissed.”

He laughed, but it seemed heartfelt. “Yeah, I figured that much. I was really surprised to see you come out of the jail cell with Iggy. I literally had no idea you were in there. Prom and I just figured you’d moved on to another booth or something.” Then he paused and his voice returned to its solemn state, “When I realized what was happening, I asked the judge if I could take your place, but he refused. Said that some dude had paid big to have you soaked and that he couldn’t afford to cancel the show.”

You wondered the validity of that statement, and not because you doubted Gladio had offered to stand in for you. You didn’t think that Nyx would really pay that much to have you publicly humiliated. You figured that Sonitus had been behind that little tidbit of information. Ego bruised and mentally damaged, you knew him to be vindictive enough to make the magistrate keep you on the rack. How he’d score the gig of working The King’s Court, you still had no idea.

You offered a wry smile, but doubted that he could see it in the low light. “Thanks, Gladio.”

“Of course.” You were pretty sure he was extending an arm toward you. “Care to take a walk with me? The night sky’s gorgeous, and since everyone’s been tearing down the faire, I imagine it’ll be pretty quiet tonight, save the last few stragglers spending one more night out here.”

You thought twice about taking his hand, but went for it. As he helped lift you out of the chair, you asked, “Are you and the others staying out tonight?”

“Yeah, no sense in tearing everything down and hightailing it back to the Citadel. Since we’ve all got the night off, may as well enjoy it, right?” He let his hand linger on yours and gently squeezed it. “Besides, Iggy’s been pretty pissed since that whole thing happened. After you left, he found Noct back at the fishing booth. Guess it was already bad enough because that lure he’d been bitching about was gone, and then Iggy pulled a you and squeezed the shit outta Noct in a death hug.” The last bit had him in low laughter. “You should’ve seen it.”

You wished you had. It was a really rotten thing Noctis had done to Ignis, and you told Gladio so.

“And, besides,” you added, “He didn’t offer to get me out, either. He left me in the cell to be eaten by voretooths.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Prince Charmless,” Gladio seconded. “Sometimes, I think he’s gonna ascend the throne alone. He’s really got no game.” He turned and led you out of your campsite, hand leaving yours to relocate around your shoulders. “The marshal gave me and Prom a pretty good tongue lashing, too.” You felt him shake his head by the way his chest moved. “He was livid that we had Noct arrested. Said that we were drawing too much attention to him out in the open public and that we wasted Cor’s time by him having to stand guard until Noct threw Iggy under the bus.”

The vision of events caused you to chuckle in return. Those guys were always in trouble.

He led you past abandoned campsites, and ones that hadn’t seen life in them since this morning. Everyone was either helping tear down the faire, or had packed up and gone home. Despite how things had turned out, it felt a little lonely seeing the open, vacant spaces.

“Say, I wanted to ask you something,” Gladio broke you from your thoughts. “Your Glaive friend—Nyx, I’m pretty sure. He called you ‘Danny.’ Is that your middle name?”

You were surprised that such a thing had caught his attention, but, it seemed that nothing ever escaped Gladio. That could’ve been a good or bad thing.

“Oh, uh, no, that’s not it.” Your head turned toward a small campfire in the distance, the first you’d seen since walking out this way. It looked like a beacon. “It’s just a nickname between the two of us.”

“I see.”

And then it fell to silence. You weren’t sure how you liked the way those words left his mouth, a combination of almost dejected and bitter, although those weren’t quite it either. If you hadn’t already been made aware of what was to come, you would’ve been confused by his tone.

His arm tightened around you as you continued down the path, past the branch that would’ve taken you back into the fairgrounds. It was quiet and vacant, as many of the booths, canopies, and makeshift walls had been disassembled. You’d been so preoccupied with drying off and changing, you hadn’t even realized it.

“There’s our camp,” he said after a long while and halted you with his arm.

You followed where you thought his gaze was directed—it was hard to see in the dark, and you figured that it had been the point, him not bringing a flashlight. Indeed, the small glow of large, dancing flames caught your eyes, the translucent trail of gray and brown smoke drifting in puffy clouds up into the sky. Seated around the fire were figures that you’d picked out to be Talcott, Iris, perhaps Jared, definitely Prompto, and Ignis. You only knew it to be Ignis because he was wrapped in a large blanket. It could’ve been Noctis, also, but this figure appeared too tall, even under that blanket, to be the treacherous prince. Were you still soaked, you would’ve given him a piece of your mind, too, in the form of a brutal, waterlogged hug.

“I don’t really feel like going back there right now, if that’s all right,” Gladio said. “Maybe we can stay out here for a little while longer?”

That thought made you uneasy. Alone, in the dark with Gladio, knowing how he felt about you. How had that even happened? You’d only known him for a couple of months— _any_ of them for only a couple of months. You didn’t even know all that much about him.

Then he squared you toward him, chest to chest, and you suddenly felt your heart beating a million miles an hour, body shaking and trembling in a way that you wished you could just have a little bit of space between you. There wasn’t even enough for a paper to squeeze through. He placed his hands on your shoulders, holding you still, and then his breath nuzzled your nose and cheeks. Dangerously close, you knew that his lips were only inches apart from your own.

Before you could think of a politer way, you squirmed out of his grasp and took several steps back until you were standing in a patch of grass. He didn’t move for the longest time, and, even though you’d just rejected him, you wish he’d say something. But the moments passed between you both and felt like an eternity, although that would be utterly impossible.

“Is there something…” he trailed off and sighed. “No, never mind. I get it.”

“Gladio,” you croaked out, without the intention of actually saying something. You didn’t even know what to say. You just wanted it all to disappear.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and added a dry chuckle at the end. “I guess I should’ve known that you were with Nyx. I mean, that Glaive said as much last night, but, if it was true that your guy was off with someone else…I…” Maybe he thought he was rambling, because, at that point, he sounded like he was.

You were more caught up in the backhanded shock that came with the fact that he, like so many others, thought you and Nyx were an item.

He sighed again, although it held more irritation than before. “I just wish…you know, that you’d _said_ you had a man you were seeing. I was sort of hopin’ you’d be mine.”

But you didn’t have a man, you wanted to tell him. You didn’t have anyone you were seeing or interested in.

You just…didn’t know what you wanted right now.

But what were you going to do, spill your whole life tragedy in his lap? All your terrible lovers and the rumors that had nearly cost you your job? No, that seemed a little unfair. Maybe, if he hadn’t come on so strong to begin with, you could’ve overlooked him as being like another Suave Rob who’d come up on his silver chocobo to take you away, only to love and leave you at the next outpost.

Through your silence, Gladio must’ve taken that as a hint of your furthered rejection of him. Before you knew it, his sigh grew tenfold, and he left you standing there, brusquely walking in the direction of his camp.

At that point, you knew that you’d be unwelcome to follow. And, even if you did, what could you say?

A year dateless, and, after tonight, you were sure there’d be another year to follow. But, even more than that, you’d just lost the friendships of all the guys, and that hurt more than anything else.

\/\/\/

You found Nyx exactly where you expected him to be, seated around the campfire, his arm draped over Horny Girl’s shoulders, although she had de-spiracorned and now looked like a regular, mundane woman, even if the gray shirt she donned made her appear shapeless and a little less sexy. She leaned into him, her head on his chest. He hadn’t changed out of garb, although it definitely appeared less wet from your angry hug earlier.

You stumbled into her campsite, which you were amazed that you’d found by blindly searching in the dark, and tripped over a rock in a fruitless effort to get to your brother. His arm dropped from her the moment he saw you. As pissed as you’d been at him earlier, his presence was a welcomed sight now. You thought he’d even comment on your stolen wardrobe, but it appeared lost on him.

“Danny,” came the breathless pronunciation of your name, as though he were embarrassed or because he had just been making out not even a minute before you gracelessly tromped through their romantic moment. “What’s wrong?”

From the look on your face, and you imagined that it had to have looked pretty bad from his side of things, he focused himself fully toward you. Although seated in a camp chair, looking up into your eyes, you still felt shy and out of place between the two of them.

“I-I needed someone to talk to…” The words waned on your tongue at the end of that confession, and you wondered if he had heard you at all.

But his brows lifted, as though you’d just told him you were something crazy, like pregnant, and he sputtered, “N-Now?”

With your frantic nod, he searched your face for a wordless moment. Horny Girl’s eyes vacillated between the two of you, and you couldn’t mistake the frustration in her taut lips and squared jaw, even if you’d wanted to. Rubbing the top of your hand with the other, you bit down on your lip, trying to keep your eyes on his. Aside from the obvious awkwardness that your presence brought, you wanted to get back to your campsite as soon as possible, and with a safety buddy in tow. Unfortunately, Nyx had been the closest option, being located only three campsites away from Gladio’s. And three campsites was not very far apart.

Eventually, he gave in with a heavy sigh. Lifting himself from the chair, he held out his arms, a silently understood gesture that was meant to take you in, and you gave into the want of being held by someone who didn’t want something more from you that you weren’t willing to give and be okay with it.

“Wait,” Horny Girl spoke, incredulity clear in her tone. Nyx turned without breaking the hug, and you saw her stony face from just the top of his arm. “Are you coming back?”

Nyx made a low grunt that you could only hear as a rumble that echoed in his chest. You felt him shake his head and the smile you knew he wore appeared in his words as he said, “I’m afraid not. But I’ll call you.”

The return look on her face made it clear that that wasn’t a good idea.

“C’mon,” he said to you, leading you away with an arm around your shoulders.

You felt bad about ruining his night, knowing what his true aim with Horny Girl had been.

\/\/\/

You walked slower than you would’ve liked with Nyx back to your campsite. It wasn’t as though the span from Horny Girl’s to your own had been of a great distance by any means, but Nyx understood your want for privacy and to talk to him on a personal level—That didn’t mean you didn’t want to do it away from the safe confines of your campsite, especially if Gladio was still around. At this point, you knew that him seeing you with Nyx’s arm around your shoulders would be a bad thing. Even the others seeing it bothered you, but you felt secure and comforted, so you didn’t stop him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, and you felt even guiltier about the genuine concern that his voice held. He must’ve truly believed something terrible was the matter.

Still, you couldn’t stop yourself from admitting, “Gladio. He…He tried to kiss me.”

Nyx stopped walking, halting you in the process.

You knew that exasperated sigh was coming even before it birthed itself in the back of his throat and escaped through his mouth. The hold on your shoulders weakened.

“That’s all?” he asked.

Your pleading eyes shot up at him, but there wasn’t much to see in the darkness, even with all the campfires around. “What do you mean _that’s all?_ That’s a very big deal.”

It was a big deal that he had confessed how much he liked you, and how he thought that Nyx was the one standing in the way of that. It was a big deal because you weren’t ready to return romantic feelings like that just yet, and now it had cost you the friendships of people who you’d truly come to enjoy the company of.

He kept his voice low as he said, “You cockblocked me because someone tried to kiss you?” When he put it that way, you regretted telling him at all. But, when he sighed again, it belied his amusement, which left you confused. “Maybe you should’ve let him.”

“You’re not helping,” you retorted and pulled out from under his arm.

“What’s wrong with Gladio?”

You gave the question a considerable amount of thought. It wasn’t as though there were anything in particular wrong with the Shield, but his persistence at getting you alone bothered you, and the way that he exclaimed to Ignis that you were “his girl,” made you feel cornered.

“He comes on too strong,” you admitted.

“Maybe so, but you might want to consider giving him a chance.” He returned his arm to your shoulder, steering you down the left path when you came to another fork in the road. This one led you toward the bathroom trailer, while the right path would’ve taken you back to your campsite. “Not everyone is like those guys you dated, Danny. Not everyone is looking to get in your pants and leave you wanting the next day. You’re not a virgin, so why are you acting like one?”

The muscles in your jaw tightened. In the last two days, the gruesome times of your past relationships had come to more light than you cared for. Tredd and his bros, Gladio trying to kiss you, and rumors all abound. Nyx had been around during the fallout of your longest lasting relationship, Vico, which only spanned the length of two years. After that, you suffered the permanent in-between syndrome of boyfriends for the following year, only to have your next longest of nine months, on and off, keep you going until you decided to cut off relationships. A year plus dry spell didn’t seem to be too bad, only on days where it wasn’t.

The worst part was that during those in-between relationships and the nine month on and off, most of the men you dated used Nyx as an excuse to cheat on you, claiming that you were cheating first. As painful as it was to recall, Tredd helped instigate those rumors when he felt that you’d been two-timing his best buddy with the Hero of the Kingsglaive. Evidently, you and your Don Juan, Nyx Ulric, Pimp Hero of the Glaives were screwing like bunnies every which way and that—including inside of one of the royal tombs, with your bare ass grinding on King Barda’s face, whichever in the long line of Lucis Kings that was, while Nyx plowed you from above.

You thought you were going to die from shame, but Nyx found it more hysterical than you liked. This was your reputation on the line here, and he did all but seem to care. The next rumor that went around affected your profession, as everyone in C District, especially the Glaives, thought that you had some kind of cleaning kink, showing Nyx how to _really_ clean with that mop. It left you mortified, and he only laughed harder, but, after that, it was no wonder why everyone in the Kingsglaive thought that you and Nyx Ulric ran together.

“I just don’t think I like him that way,” you murmured, leaning into his embrace. You rested your head against him, and he steered you down yet another path. This one, however, circled back to your campsite, which would have you there in only a few minutes. “He thinks that you and I are together.”

“Well, it probably doesn’t help that you’re wearing my clothes.” At the mentioning of it, he seized a fistful of the sleeve and added, “I saw these crumpled in the chair this morning. I thought it might’ve been you who’d stolen them.”

You chuckled, but you felt like a hurricane. Your mind trailed back to the last few moments of the awkward and painful conversation between you and Gladio. You were glad that you hadn’t been able to see his face—you knew you would’ve been crushed under the guilt of seeing his pain. As it stood, you doubted that he wanted anything further to do with you, which meant that you had no reason to hang out with any of the others. Even that newlyfriends friendship with Ignis that wasn’t even forty-eight hours old was dead and in the toilet, now that the royal adviser had surely become aware of how cruelly you’d stomped on his best friend’s heart. The last thing you wanted to admit was that they probably all hated you, now.

Trying to shake off the brimming tears at your eyes, you attempted to make light of the pain and said, “Besides, he comes from a big name House. I doubt that his father would look very highly on a relationship between a Shield and a janitor.”

That caused Nyx to chuckle, although it seemed dry and uncertain. Perhaps he’d heard the crack in your voice. You’d tried so hard to hide it, too, but he was perceptive. “You’re the one always saying that you’re not a janitor.”

“I’m not.”

“Then call it for what it is.”

That prompted you to smile in turn, and lower your gaze to the dimly lit walkway. Several more fires had ignited in the last hour, but your vision blurred with the tears threatening to fall. You knew your voice cracked for sure when you said, “I’m sorry for wrecking your date.”

He was silent for a moment, and you knew you had stomped on the truth. After a while, he replied, “It’s not the first time, and I doubt it’ll be the last.” You hated how he put it, but then he added, “If it had been a problem, I wouldn’t have left.” With that he squeezed you into his side. “You need to start dating so I can return the favor.”

You laughed, and it felt good. “How do you know that that’s not the reason I _don’t_ date?”

“If you do, you gotta break it off with Scientia, though,” he said, deflecting your facetious question. “He’s your faire husband, after all. Best to let him die with some dignity.”

You gasped and shoved Nyx. It was like pushing a brick wall and he probably didn’t even feel it. “Don’t call it that.”

“Why? It’s obviously true. I’ll bet you’re even still wearing the ring.”

Upon the mere mention of it, the little band weighed heavy on your finger. You clenched your hand into a fist and tried to pull away, but Nyx kept you in place. Fantasy Faire had been an absolute disaster, and your brother was, somehow, always fanning that flame when you least expected it, but you didn’t know what you’d do without him.

“You’re mean,” you said.

“Birds of a feather,” he replied and hugged you again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys...I know I'm probably going to get some hate (really hope not, though. I'm not actually asking for it. Masochism ain't for me ::grin::) for breaking Gladio's heart, but I did tag it, first and foremost, as much as it killed me to hurt the big guy, so I'll understand if anyone turns back from here. I really didn't want to get into the whole Gladio-Iggy rivalry to begin with, but I failed that hardcore. He'll bounce back, I promise. :( Iggy's got some 'splaining to do anyway.
> 
> Btw, that whole wedding thing? True story. Weirdest thing ever, and it involved mistletoe in October, but immersion is what I believe they were going for. I spiced it up with some influences from the FFIX wedding.
> 
> Chapter Five won't take a month, I promise. Whole different ballgame from here. Hope you guys enjoyed this encyclopedia-sized chapter.


	5. What is a (Wo)man? A Miserable, Little Pile of Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But enough talk! Have at you!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I couldn't help it. The title and summary are ripped off straight from Castlevania, but the theme of secrets runs rampant in this chapter. So much that it's exhausting XD
> 
> Please forgive me for how long this chapter took to actually write! It just cleared 86 pages, and is my longest to date. There's so much that happens in this chapter and I didn't want to split it up because of everything that happens. I feel that it's better explained all in one chapter, as opposed to multiple. There are flashbacks (all denoted by the usage of italics to make up whole scenes), some time lapse, and a whole lotta Big Trouble that propels Reader into the next story arc. So, please be kind to me while reading this chapter. I've been editing it for almost four days, have rewritten a lot of the scenes, and wouldn't be surprised if there were inconsistencies I missed--although, I hope not, haha!
> 
> I definitely won't be writing this much for one chapter again for a while, despite how much fun it is. Otherwise, I'll never update in a timely manner (and I DID mention that I'm awful with updates). Chapter six takes a relaxing turn after this hot mess, and all will be revealed then, I promise! Until then, I hope you guys enjoy the read. It's...uh...it's gonna take a while.
> 
> Fair warning! About halfway down the chapter is a NSFW scene. It's brief and non-descriptive, but it's still there.

**We Just Merely Get Swept Up**

**V.**

**What is a (Wo)man? A Miserable, Little Pile of Secrets**

_May 24th. M.E. 752. Two weeks after high school graduation._

_Your eyes fluttered open to the sound of the hum of the bus engine, a rhythmic jostle coming from the tire axles as they bounced you up the highway, through Crestholm Pass, and over the Insomnian Bay Bridge. Your eyes focused in on a small, yellow car as your window seat passed it by. It disappeared as the bus driver veered right, onto a small overpass for buses and fast track members. The little, yellow car slowed until it stopped behind a long line of other colorful cars, all held hostage until they paid the five gil for the toll charge._

_Wait, was it gil still? Vico said that Insomnia’s currency changed once you reached the city limits, but couldn’t be sure if that was considered now or later._

_Eh…What did it matter? The bus driver assured you that there would be a place to change your gil into Insomnian bills and coins once you arrived at the station. It felt like the least of your concerns, since you were arriving and your own boyfriend of a year and a half wouldn’t even be there to greet you. You understood. He had to work and you were coming on short notice._

_…Even if you_ _**had** _ _let him known a month ahead of time._

_You wouldn’t let that bother you. All that had mattered up until now was getting on the bus, away from Galdin Quay, and Pryham, and that life you could do without for a while. A new life was what you yearned for, and you and Vico had spent the duration of your online relationship reciting all of the wonderful things you were going to do when you finally came to Insomnia._

_You’d met him on a forum for painters back when you thought you could be a watercolor artist, and, before long, you were face spamming him on MyFace’s video chat. He was as cute and charming as you imagined he would be, with an award-winning diamond smile that had your heart beating just a little faster every time you talked to him. “Vico” was his username, but all of his friends called him by that, and he lived in Insomnia, working for Passiflora-Incarnara, and you wondered if someone had made a humorous typo on their business name, considering that a Passiflora-_ _**Incarnata** _ _was a beautiful, purple passionflower found only in Tenebrae. But only half of the establishment dealt with floral arrangements, while the other half was some kind of “prestigious” art gallery. Vico told you he was a curator there. You couldn’t wait to see him in his nice, blue suit explaining art philosophy and all of that mumbo-jumbo to interested art snobs._

_By then, you’d changed your major to music. In the process, anyway._

_Neither your father nor brother appeared to be fond of Vico, despite your defending him. He wasn’t going to be a curator forever, you explained. In fact, he was working with someone in the Crownsguard and planned to land a big position there. Maybe work alongside the marshal or Shield._

_Your father told you he’d only let you move to Insomnia if you planned to attend the university there. You told him you’d try. And try you did. You didn’t exactly have the grade point average from high school to recommend you, and, although there had been a perfectly good junior college to start spinning your wheels at Blue Waters Community College, a ten minute drive from Galdin Quay, that hadn’t been the point. No, the point had been to get the hell away from Pryham the moment the word “graduation” could tumble from the first person’s mouth. You and Vico had plans—_ _**lots** _ _of plans._

_Because of your grade point average, Insomnia University had respectfully declined your application earlier that March. You guessed that they were too skeptical taking in someone who hadn’t been serious about their testing and grades in high school. There was always the community college, but you’d try for that once you got settled in. Maybe._

_If you had known that so much rode on those stupid placement tests, you would’ve studied harder._

_You hadn’t chosen to tell your family about it. They didn’t need to know. It would be a waste of money if you didn’t know what you wanted to major in anyway. Insomnia University advised you to take some community college classes and submit to them again in a couple of years for a transfer. Perhaps they’d consider you then._

_Perhaps…not._

_You were a smart girl, both intellectually and in common sense. You didn’t believe in measuring intelligence by books and prestigious schools._

_When you stepped off the bus at Insomnia Grand Central Station, the university was the last thing on your mind. You shot a text off to Vico, not expecting him to reply, being at work and all. He had forgotten to send you a spare key to his flat, so you were reduced to wandering and waiting until he could come collect you and take you home._

_Slinging the strap of your favorite duffel bag over your shoulder, you bent at the waist to pick up another smaller one and a nylon bag that your older brother had given you for good measure, even if he_ _**was** _ _upset over your leaving. He had sacrificed his dreams to stay home and take care of your sickly father, but you didn’t want that same life. You wanted to experience the things that your friends already were, living in different cities—some in Lestallum, others making the daring leap to Accordo, despite the Niflheim neutrality. You were fortunate that your beloved was making that all a reality._

_You’d suffer neutrality anywhere with Vico if it got you away from home._

_The air felt thick and heavy on your bare arms as you crossed the platform toward the little station that exchanged currency. The first raindrop pricked the back of your neck and you swatted it with your hand. Staring up into the sky, your eyes became mesmerized by the first skyscraper you’d ever seen that wasn’t in a picture book or tabloid. The little windows glowed like light-polluted stars from each building, and obnoxiously colored billboards monopolized the attention from the rest of the night sky. You’d miss the stars, but would sacrifice them for a bit of solidarity._

_For the first time in your short-lived life, you felt like this was the best decision you had ever made._

_***_

Quinzi had grown quite fond of his hand-drawn slides, and, even though each custodial meeting usually meant at least one or all of you were in trouble, it was like anticipating the next episode of your favorite sitcom. Today’s custodial meeting had two brand new characters introduced into the mix: Ancil, whom was drawn tall and lanky, like a tree, and the substitute custodian who’d been covering your run in C District for the last month, Shum. Today was the first day of meeting Shum, although you’d heard quite a bit about him. He hailed from the same region of Galahd as Harv and spoke little to no Lucian. That being said, apparently his photography skills were next to none, and spent most of the shift taking pictures of other people’s work instead of concentrating his efforts on your run. What he was doing with said pictures, you could only imagine.

Quinzi captured Shum’s two hundred pound, six-foot-two round frame quite well, as the substitute custodian towered over the rest of the characters in the slides, like a shepherd to a bunch of misguided chickatrice. Of course, you had to remind yourself that you _all_ were considered a bunch of misguided chickatrice in Quinzi’s eyes. Each and every custodial meeting served to prove that.

Although Ancil worked B District, Jaron sent him over at Quinzi’s behest to be involved in the meeting, especially since he was one of the perpetrators in question. Since when your boss had become the spokesperson for everything wrong, even to custodians not immediately under him, you’d no idea. Maybe Jaron didn’t want to be the bad guy.

Quinzi stood at the head of the room, clicker in hand with another borrowed projector in the borrowed room of the Glaive library. You were beginning to miss the Mess Hall. The lights dim, you, Ancil, Lambert, Shum, Chadwick, Reimund, and Ermin all sat around a table that was most certainly not round, so it couldn’t be the Round Table, but you felt that the principle of its meaning held very well.

“You might all be wondering what today’s meeting is about,” Quinzi opened, clicking the pointer at the projector to open with the first slide after the cast of characters had been introduced. You wondered if Quinzi would change up your stick figure avatar if you asked—maybe add sunglasses or a bright bow or something— _anything,_ really. “Well, fellas, good question.”

You were pretty sure no one wanted to know why they were there today. _Again._

Lambert translated in a low voice to Shum everything that Quinzi was saying. At least, that’s what he was _supposed_ to be doing. Apparently, he spoke the Coastal Galahdian dialect and had been asked to communicate it. Knowing him, he was probably calling Quinzi and the whole lot of you a bunch of no good names. You tried to note a few of the words that Lambert kept using over and over to ask Nyx, in case he was familiar with the dialect.

You knew he spoke some form of Galahdian, as you’d heard him and Libertus speak a few words here and there. However, he never spoke it in front of you, most likely to be courteous, and stuck to Lucian. It was on your bucket list to learn his dialect of Galahdian and surprise him by speaking it to his face someday.

The slides opened with a “no animals allowed” in the Citadel Courtyard in B District. You wondered when Quinzi had been asked to clean there, but your body shook and ached from having to stifle your laughter at the slide of him weed-eating, and the next slide that showed the blade hitting a big pile of dog crap, spraying it all over himself. He’d colored his entire stick figure brown, save the whites and pupils of the Quinzi figure’s eyes underneath an unrealistic mountain of doggie doo-doo.

Quinzi slapped the pointer against the projector screen and it hit the wall behind him, causing it to ripple violently. The sharp noise also silenced all of the other laughter besides your own.

“This is _not_ okay,” he barked at all of you, face budding red. “We all need to be enforcing the ‘no animals’ policy for reasons like this. It’s not often that His Majesty leaves the safe confines of the Citadel to enjoy a beautiful stroll through his own courtyard, but if he ever _did,_ and stepped his royal toes into a steaming pile of crap, what do you think happens to us?”

Ancil, brave soul that he was, raised his hand. “Shouldn’t we have all of B District down here to listen to this?”

“Yeah,” Ermin chimed in, that brave, _brave_ soul. “You weed-whacking shit all over yourself isn’t our fault.”

Oh…dear.

Between the two, they had woken the Quinzi Dragon and it was time to feel his fiery breath. You almost slid your chair back as Quinzi, who looked like a downright Leide red bell pepper at this point, stormed over to the table and pounded his fists against the surface, clutching pointer and all. The table lifted on your side, taking you by surprise.

No doubt, he’d be taking a trip back to HR if others like Reimund or Lambert had anything to say about it.

“What part of ‘we _all_ need to be enforcing this’ comes across as unclear to you? The _we_ or the _all_ words? Don’t worry about the other districts; I’m talking to _you_ guys. Jaron, and Audwin, and Ruddy, and whoever the _fuck_ else supervises a district already knows this shit and should be enforcing it the same exact _fucking_ way. The ‘no animals allowed’ policy applies to _every_ district, not just B. And as long as I’m leading C District, you’ll damn well listen, whether you report straight to me or not.”

He slammed his fists again for apparent good measure before returning to his post in front of the projector screen. The second slam attack knocked over Reimund’s water bottle and it rolled across the table toward you. You silently passed it to him. With Quinzi’s back to everyone, you recognized the slow incline and decline of his shoulders and he took deep breaths, a surefire strategy of counting to ten.

Little late for that.

Wide eyed, Ancil and Ermin shot looks at each other before passing them around the table. Even Lambert had stopped translating for Shum, who obviously realized that something was terribly amiss. You pressed your lips together in a flat line, jaw tight as you tried hard not to laugh or quiver. This wasn’t the first time you’d seen Quinzi lose his cool and, if he didn’t end up back down at HR, you were certain that this wouldn’t be the last. 

After a few more deep breaths, your boss aimed the pointer at the screen and switched the slide to stick figure Ancil and the enclosed utility vehicle. You knew this one well, as you had witnessed the aftermath of the destruction of the gear shift firsthand. Ancil averted his eyes from the screen as Quinzi chastised _somebody_ without directly using their name. You weren’t sure if it wouldn’t have been better if he just had, especially since everyone knew it had been Ancil who’d broke the gear shift.

Quinzi transitioned into the next slide quite smoothly, still talking without taking a breath. Shum was the star of this catastrophe, wearing one of the many custodial backpack vacuums. He’d been drawn rather disproportionately in this slide, with Quinzi’s attempt at making the larger man appear as though he were vacuuming, although it came off as though Shum had a broken leg. The next slide made up for the artistic error, however, as Shum’s vacuum became engulfed in flames, the poor substitute custodian along with it. The worst part was that, since he was currently cleaning in _your_ area, the vacuum, undoubtedly, belonged to you.

Bummer.

Quinzi bellowed out that we, meaning all of _you,_ needed to be taking better care of the equipment and that his budget wouldn’t allow for new replacements of such high-end products, like vacuums or constant trips to the mechanic for the utility vehicles.

You were still wondering how Shum had managed to catch your vacuum on fire.

Quinzi’s ridiculously drawn slides kept the meeting from being far from boring, but it was really cutting into your work time, and you secretly checked your wristwatch when he had his back turned to see how much you’d lost since the meeting began. Nearing twenty minutes. The next few topics weren’t as funny as the dog shit or the vacuum catching on fire—basically remembering to check for unlocked doors, keeping an eye on toilet paper that may be running low, especially in the women’s bathroom and—

“We _need_ to be vacuuming Captain Drautos’ office,” Quinzi said, flaring eyes zoning in on Chadwick, whose own were on a stack of books on the bookshelf next to him. “This is the third e-mail he’s sent me this week. Maybe you’re unclear, but his office _is_ on your designated run.” When Chadwick remained lost in whatever adventure world his head was in, Quinzi growled, “ _Chadwick._ ”

Ermin knocked his knee against the other man’s and Chadwick sparked to life, jolting in his chair with wide eyes.

“Oh, uh…” He must’ve noticed that the quiet room had directed their attention to him, for he began to ramble, “R-Right, I think that you make some pretty good points. I mean, like, some of those animals aren’t on leashes and can run rampant, dude. Like—like a couple of weeks ago, I tried to tell Gutsco that his pit bull wasn’t allowed in the courtyard, and, _man,_ I tell you, that thing lunged— _lunged—_ ” Chadwick embellished his words with an exaggerated act of his arm and elbow flying in an arc through the air, “right at my throat and I thought I was gonna die—”

“ _Chadwick,_ ” Quinzi thundered, his voice matching a Crownsguard official’s quite nicely. Maybe his father had been in the guard or something. “We moved past the ‘no animals allowed’ slide almost fifteen minutes ago. Now we’re talking about _you_ and why you refuse to vacuum Captain Drautos’ office.”

Chadwick opened his mouth to speak, but snickers abound prompted him to close it. Quinzi turned away from the crowd, pointer aimed at the projector.

You could almost visualize the shake in your boss’ voice, “Maybe you’re all wondering why I’m being such a hard ass about all of this. ‘It’s just a pile of dog shit,’ some of you might be thinking, or ‘it’s just a low roll of toilet paper.’ But I’ve saved the best point for last, and this should clear up any and all confusion on the matter.” Eyes scanning the lot of you, he added, “I thought it best to let the camera speak for itself, rather than draw a slide.”

The screen changed again, and a small video began to play. You knew that your boss liked to visit the surveillance office often to watch the cameras, although such an act was supposed to be reserved for when big, major, bad things happened—like you getting locked in the bathroom. You had your suspicions about the motives, however, and the footage playing justified your skepticism.

This particular camera was located where you remembered the chocobo stables being during the Fantasy Faire, just a week ago. A tent had been erected above and around the light post, which held the hanging camera. They were aimed directly above the occupied metal pens of the birds, two of them that you could see. It wasn’t surprising that the faire coordinators would choose a place under a camera to set up their makeshift stables, and you supposed that Quinzi was proving that point just as you all watched.

Nothing happened for the first six or seven seconds of the silent video, as none of the cameras had sound equipped to them, and you stifled a yawn from having been at the table for too long. Then, clear as day, a uniformed custodian came slinking into the stables, and, even though you could only see the top of his mulleted head, you knew it to be Chadwick. He approached one of the curious birds and stopped directly in front of the pen. The chocobo cocked its head to the side and its beak opened into a ‘kweh,’ you assumed, before taking a shuffled step back.

Chadwick pursued, standing on one of the bars and leaned over the door of the pen. Arm outstretched, his grabby fingers sought the bird, which was _clearly_ trying to get away from him. Several of your coworkers sniggered into chuckles, and those chuckles evolved into full blown laughter like you were, _indeed,_ sitting in the audience of Insomnia’s Grand Stage during comedy hour. Your eyes flickered to Chadwick for a brief moment, but he looked as though he were about to die from humiliation.

Attention returning to the footage, Chadwick had somehow enticed the bird into coming closer, only for it to jump back again. This time, his hand slapped down on the bird just as it yanked him over the railing and into the pen. He managed to pull a fistful of feathers from the chocobo, causing the bird to straighten, squawk, and violently flap its wings at the perpetrator. Loose feathers rained down in the midst of the turbulent gust, and the chocobo’s head darted toward the custodian in an effort to peck him. Holding his yellow, feathery prize close, Chadwick stumbled to his feet and sought the pen door, but not before your beloved Sir Heymon the Twisted charged on scene.

You wished you knew what the angry exchange between your favorite chocobo jouster and Chadwick had actually been, but you could settle for charades as Sir Heymon waved his arms wildly in the air, Chadwick scared stiff under the mighty gaze of your beloved. Sir Heymon, who now wore a tricorn, plumed by a red, blossomed feather, yanked it from his head and began to beat Chadwick with it until your coworker managed to find the latch leading out of the pen. Raging and animate, Sir Heymon slapped the yellow, feathery prize from Chadwick’s hands and chased him off-screen. Quinzi paused the video.

It was probably a bad idea, but you followed the end of the footage with a standing ovation, to which your other coworkers merely applauded from their seats. You didn’t have the heart to check Chadwick’s face, but imagined the terror that beheld him.

Quinzi motioned for you to sit as he walked to the front of the table again, towering over you all. “Chadwick.” His eyes glanced left, to where the accused sat. You kept your eyes on your boss and held a hand over your mouth to avoid detection of laughter. “If you’ll notice the timestamp on this footage, you’ll see that it’s set during the time I had asked you to head up toward the Citadel to get the 4x2 so that we could hitch the trailer to it.”

You squinted at the timestamp on the frozen footage. If you could recall it yourself, after the whole bodice nightmare and walking with Crowe toward the stone privies, then, yes, you could corroborate Quinzi’s story.

As for Chadwick, he didn’t bother to open his mouth to make any excuses this time. That was a first.

Quinzi continued, attention still on your mulleted coworker, “Believe it or not, the reason I’m actually pissed has _nothing_ to do with the fact that you disobeyed a direct order to go chocobo feather plucking.” Only then did his gaze roam the table. He appeared to have settled down a little, but you knew that this was only the calm before the storm. “Shortly after this all happened, several of the faire coordinators accosted me, demanding to know if I knew the man who had assaulted their birds.”

Chadwick interrupted, “Quinzi, you should know that—”

“Defending yourself isn’t necessary,” Quinzi took the conversation back. “Apparently, emotional distress has been laid upon that bird and its owner is demanding a lawsuit. Do you see where I’m getting?”

It wasn’t a laughing matter, but you had to turn your head from running the risk of doing so anyway.

Quinzi continued, “After the meeting, I want you to join me back in the custodial office.”

Chadwick slumped in his seat while the rest of the room fell silent. Despite the circumstances, the ghost of a smile danced at your lips. Maybe, after all was said and done, Quinzi would let you have the video so that you could put some music to it.

_***_

_Two weeks after you arrived in Insomnia, Vico became restless and suggested that you find a job to help pay for the expenses around his single bedroom, tiny ass apartment. It was located about four blocks east of the West Gate, and in a complex you felt was nicer than other places around Insomnia—not that you’d been out much. In fact, you’d spent most of your arrival holed up in his apartment, tidying up and making space for your things. Although you had only ever corresponded with Vico through text and MyFace video chat, you felt a bit let down after seeing how untidy he really was._

_Unabashedly, you’d pictured him to be much cleaner._

_You originally had the wonderful idea of applying to Passiflora-Incarnara so that you could spend more time with your boyfriend, but Vico was vehemently against it. A little bit hurt and confused, you took to the classifieds in both the newspaper and online, both of which were quite bare. It came as a letdown to you that you’d chosen a bad time to look for a job: the beginning of summer when all of the college students from Insomnia University were on break and needed to support themselves in the meantime._

_You couldn’t compete with them, it seemed. The businesses that_ _**were** _ _flying positions wanted experience, which you lacked, considering that you were fresh out of high school with no job experience to speak of. Any other jobs that you did qualify for had already hired college students because, well, friends of friends, it seemed. You made a mental note that networking was pretty damn important here in Insomnia._

_Vico suggested that you take the preposterous leap of applying down at the Citadel, which left your stomach in knots at the idea. You? Working alongside the king? You’d never been fortunate enough to meet a celebrity, much less the king who governed over all. Fat chance you had of being able to score a job there. Still, your boyfriend was insistent, complaining that you were eating all of the food and making a mess of his apartment while he worked hard to put those meals on the table._

_You really didn’t eat_ _ **that**_ _much, but him saying so had you checking yourself quite a bit. You even tinkered with his scale to make sure it worked properly, but your weight didn’t appear to be fluctuating. Maybe it was all psychological, but you didn’t want to think about that right now._

_You applied to every department you could think of in the Citadel, from Immigration to Groundskeeping. No matter the task, you were a quick learner and felt that you were flexible enough to handle anything. Besides, it was nearing the end of your first month’s stay in the big city with nothing to show for it._

_Human Resources knew you by name after the second week of submitting applications, wandering in and out of the lobby, sometimes escorted by security or “Kingsglaive,” depending on the department you were headed for. Vico was best friends with a Glaive named Tredd Furia, and you’d only met the redhead once. He seemed nice enough, winking and smiling at you the moment Vico introduced you when the Glaive stopped by the apartment after work to share a beer. You weren’t old enough to drink, but that didn’t stop you from joining the two in the living room, saddled up next to your boyfriend while the men drank and laughed with each other. When you asked who the Glaive were, Tredd gave you a lengthy answer, and you offered sympathy when he mentioned the war between Galahd and Niflheim._

_The three times you were escorted by the Kingsglaive were with different people each time. Two with much older men who shocked you at the fact that they could be elite soldiers, and once with a man younger than they. He was a little chattier than the first two, a small tattoo under his left eye and one on his right cheek. He, at least, appeared a little more interested in your purpose for being at the Citadel, and even wished you luck after dropping you off at the door leading to the royal kitchen._

_The second time you met Tredd was at Passiflora-Incarnara, the two of you coincidentally stopping by during Vico’s lunch break. Tredd leaned against the counter as the two talked about some scrimmage game on television. When the conversation began to exclude you, you took to wandering the lobby, staring at flower arrangements and exotic paintings and photographs of all kinds._

_A restaurant you’d never been to lit up across the way. Yamachang’s, Vico said. You wondered what kind of food they served there, but, from the looks of it, it appeared to be just a little hole in the wall, quite literally, with a few tables and chairs to speak of. A set of stairs were visible on one side of the street, and you figured that was the only way to get there. That, or jump five feet off from the railing._

_Four people sat at one of the tables that you could see, all laughing and engaged in conversation. Pressing your face up against the glass of the door, you were certain that all were Glaives from the coats thrown on the back of their chairs—one was wearing theirs—a woman, a larger man, and two thinner men. Then you laughed and tapped a finger against the glass door, interrupting Tredd and Vico’s conversation._

“ _What’s up?” Vico asked._

_Smiling at the recognition, you said, “That’s one of the Glaives who walked me up to the royal kitchen this afternoon. I’m pretty positive of it.”_

“ _Let me see.” Tredd’s boots clomped across the tile floor as he made his way toward you. A good foot taller than you, he stood at your back, his chin above your head, and said, “Which one?”_

“ _That one. The thinner guy with the braids.”_

_Tredd was silent for only a moment before scoffing. “That douche? His name is Nyx. You’re best keeping away from that steaming pile of turd.”_

_Not quite the answer you were expecting, you pivoted your body to gaze up at Tredd. His jaw tightened and little lines appeared at the corner of his eyes._

“ _Yeah,” Vico seconded, walking from around the back of the counter. “Nyx isn’t the kind of guy you want to get to know. So stay away from him.”_

_You weren’t sure how to take the words coming at you. The Glaive from earlier appeared to be a really nice guy, taking you where you wanted to go, listening to your sad, sob story of how you needed a job and were down on your luck—things like that._

“ _He’s a user,” Tredd added, blowing air from his lips. He kept his eyes on Nyx, as though mentally conjuring some kind of curse geared toward the unsuspecting Glaive. “He cheated me out of some missions that would’ve had the captain take notice of me.”_

“ _I heard a rumor that he stole one of his best friend’s girlfriends,” Vico chimed in. “Then he dumped her for some barfly.”_

“ _He’s bad news, Little Lady,” Tredd told you, and then offered a Cheshire grin. “Take it from me. You try being nice to scum like him, and he’ll take full advantage of you.”_

_He and Vico made a few more offhand remarks about Nyx, snickering and crudely imitating him, before returning to their previous conversation. Your eyes remained on Yamachang’s and the four seated around the table. From your vantage point, as Passiflora-Incarnara sat much higher off the ground than the restaurant, you watched as Nyx laugh and playfully shove the larger Glaive next to him. You wondered what they were talking about, and if it had anything to do with the accuracy of Tredd and Vico’s accounts of Nyx._

_You watched them for a long while._

_When radio silence took you by storm at the end of the third week of applying at the Citadel, you’d started to give up hope. You were also tired of your boyfriend’s moodiness after coming home from work each day, asking if you’d found a job yet, only to be answered with a lethargic shake of the head. He’d usually go out after that, sometimes with Tredd, staying out late and sleeping on the couch in the living room. It spurred you on even harder as the panic of him breaking up with you dawned in your mind._

_If you could’ve camped out at the Citadel, you would’ve. As it were, you’d already run into Nyx twice more since Tredd and Vico told you to stay away from him, and, each time, he’d offer a smile and nod of the head in your direction. Whether he remembered you as the girl he’d escorted or was simply being courteous, you weren’t sure. The only thing you_ _**were** _ _sure of was that you couldn’t stand Vico staying out late anymore. You were desperate to please._

_Then, you received your first and only phone call from the Citadel._

_Quinzi Medirsk arranged an interview with you in C District, but, from the cemented frown on his face, you doubted you had a chance in all of Eos of scoring a job with him. Applying for custodial had been the last resume you’d turned in, and, by this point, you’d take anything. You still weren’t sure how to dress for an interview in which the job entailed scrubbing toilets and taking out trash. Were you overdoing it by wearing a nice blouse and midi length skirt? Maybe you should’ve substituted them for slacks and a button-down._

_Too late now._

_You fidgeted in the black office chair as his eyes alternated from you to the resume you’d turned in at Human Resources. He pushed his tongue into his cheek and tapped the end of a pen against the paper. Never before had you felt like you were in a hot seat, not even that one time you’d been caught putting a baby sparkshear in Lucia’s backpack and the teacher sent you to the principal’s office._

“ _So,” he began, drawing the word out from his lips, nice and slow as he coded his attention toward you. “Why do you want to be a custodian?”_

_Because you needed a job. Because if you didn’t get said job, your boyfriend was going to dump you and you’d have to move back home to Pryham. Because if you had to move back to Pryham, you thought you were going to die from boredom and shame. Because if boredom and shame was all that life had to offer you, you would’ve applied to college sooner, but that didn’t feel like an option right now._

_You sat up straight and folded your hands together in your lap. Looking up at him, you replied, “To create a healthier and cleaner working environment for the employees and nobles of the Citadel.”_

_You’d been reciting the answer ever since Vico told you that it would probably be an interview question. He said that employers always asked that question. You thought long and hard about the answer that would score you the most brownie points, but, seeing the skepticism ride across Quinzi’s face, you felt pretty sure that you’d given the wrong answer._

“ _Right.” His eyes dropped back to your resume._

_It felt like a bomb went off in your stomach. Strike one, you heard a voice in the back of your head say._

“ _I see you’re straight out of high school,” he said, eyes moving along each line on the paper. “And you’ve never had a part-time job in the meantime?” Embarrassed, you shook your head. “Any kind of internship?” Again, you motioned a ‘no.’ “Any experience with cleaning?” Wow…interviews were hard._

“ _I’ve always stayed at home to help my dad,” you said after a moment. “He’s sick, so my brother and I look after him.”_

_You were beginning to believe that, at this point, there wasn’t a single thing you could say that would save this interview._

_He placed your resume on his cluttered desk and zoned his attention in on you. “Listen, this is a pretty tight ship this department’s running here, and the Citadel isn’t the same as any other cleaning gig. You’re asking me to hand a grandmaster key to an eighteen year old, and trust her with the most sensitive content that governs this entire country. Do you see what I’m saying here?”_

_You thought you did, but didn’t vocalize it._

_He felt the need to clarify. “You’d be cleaning noblemen’s offices, potentially hearing or seeing things that are not meant for your eyes and ears. You’d be in charge of the entire skeleton of this Citadel, making sure that it doesn’t collapse, both physically and metaphorically. That’s risking a lot on my skin.”_

_Basically, you figured, he was justifying why he wasn’t going to give you a job. Why had he scheduled an interview then? What a way to add insult to injury._

“ _I’m trustworthy,” you argued. “Granted, I can’t prove it.”_

_He shrugged. “That just may be the problem.”_

_Refraining from sighing, you stood and extended a hand. “Thanks for your time.”_

_He took it and offered a wry smile. “Good luck in the future.”_

_***_

You hated nights like these, spent doing chores instead of doing something more productive, like playing video games or practicing on Sally. Tonight, the word ‘chore’ was used a little more loosely, but still gave you the same dull feeling of something jabbing into your stomach as you sat in front of your laptop, video chatting with your older brother.

Your _real_ older brother.

Had it only been three months since you’d last committed two hours to an unenthusiastic and uninspiring conversation with him? You could’ve sworn it had been longer. Attempting to appear engaged as he rambled on about your poor life choices, you welcomed the short break as he announced that he had to visit the bathroom.

“T-M-I,” you replied in turn.

He rolled his eyes and left the video screen, a vacant chair and a dull, beige wall being all that was left to chat with you. You counted to ten before dropping your face into your hands to groan into them, certain that he wouldn’t be in earshot to hear you. It sounded more like a growl than a groan anyway. Talking to a wall felt more enlightening than talking to JP, and you chastised yourself about why you still did it.

Oh. Because Nyx coerced you into it.

The Glaive had a way of making you feel guilty without actually bringing his deceased family into the mix. But you figured that that was where he was going with it.

You weren’t sure how much more of JP’s chastising you were willing to endure. You weren’t a masochist of this nature by any means, and, with every negative word, you felt your hand move closer and closer to the lid of the laptop with a surefire intent to snap the damn thing shut.

Before you could work up the courage to do exactly that, JP rejoined you in his chair, typical scowl on his face. It worked well against the circle beard he’d recently grown out to make himself look older than the four years your senior he already was. He’d always kept his hair short and tidy, since it curled in Pryham’s humidity when it got too long. This time of year, you knew, was the worst for it. All around, a shade darker than your hair, but you still swore that yours looked cleaner, nicer, and prettier.

He didn’t miss a beat continuing the lecture against you.

You were as done as the voretooth steak you had for dinner. Mustering your best poker face, you brought up the filters page for the chat. It was MyFace’s new feature to encourage lots of fun during video chat. You were pretty impressed with the program’s facial recognition, especially with how fluid the clown filter adhered itself to your brother’s face. He lectured you under the guise of a bright, red nose and sherbet colored wig. If you listened _very_ closely, you could make out the carnival music in the background as he spoke.

“I still don’t get why you’re living there,” he prattled on, and you covered your mouth with a hand to hide your smile. Poker face was slowly dying. JP didn’t appear to notice, the clown nose bobbing against his face as he went on, “You said you’re not seeing that Vimo guy anymore—”

“Vico,” you corrected, and pretended to rub your mouth.

“Whatever. I’m not going to get into your personal affairs, but if that Glaive really cared about you, he’d be willing to move here with you. Dad’s health is getting worse.”

You switched the filter to that of a granny, polka-dotted bow and gray wig that swirled up like an ice cream cone. As the features settled on your brother, you wondered how MyFace had gotten the calculations just right in order to age JP fifty years. He was one scary looking grandma.

You dropped your hand long enough to adjust the filter and said, “For the last time, Nyx isn’t my boyfriend. And you’re right, my personal affairs _aren’t_ your concern.”

Grandma JP scooted his chair closer to the computer screen, gray wig swaying like a tree in a windstorm atop his head. “And what about dad?” he asked.

You gave pause as you scrolled the next set of filters. Clicking on one that turned JP’s face into a huge Lucian strawberry, accompanied by animated strawberries dancing behind him, you replied, “I _do_ think about dad.”

That was the truth, and you _had_ thought about him a lot. In the past. He’d been afflicted by the Scourge when you were younger, and only in the last few years had the disease worsened. Getting around with a walker on shaky legs was the least of your father’s ailments. You often wondered if that had been why mom left, but she was a kind soul. She would have stuck through his illness through thick and thin, just like the marriage vows went.

With mom gone, JP voluntarily took it upon himself to remain by dad’s side, working the ranch on the other side of Pryham, and going to Galdin Quay and surrounding areas for trade at the markets. Your brother hadn’t been clandestine in the hopes of you joining him in the endeavor, so when he found out you planned to leave immediately after graduation, especially for a _boy in the city,_ he’d been less than pleased.

You changed the filter to a swamp monster the moment JP opened his mouth to speak. With a face that appeared in the guise of a ghillie suit, the rest of the environment now submerged in some swamp out in the Vesperpool, you lost your composure. Poker face had officially died. JP was even less amused.

“—I _highly_ doubt you think about me _or_ dad—What are you laughing at?”

Ducking your head under your table to spit out the laughter, you shouted back, “I’m not laughing! I’m crying. Terribly. At how bad of a sister I’ve been.” You tried to lift your head upright, but the image of a scary ghillie suited JP settled in the backdrop of the Vesperpool had you rolling in unconstrained cackling. You couldn’t even try anymore.

He remained still in his chair, now transformed to be a part of the scenery. Although you could no longer see his face behind the creepy filter, you could only imagine the glare he offered you now.

“No doubt, you’re browsing other websites while having this conversation with me,” he said, very, very angry indeed. Oh, how very, very wrong he was. You were half-tempted to take a screenshot and send it to him. “I’m glad you find this all very funny. Dad’s sick and you’re skimming through pictures on _IAmFunny_.”

You actually hadn’t been on that site in a long time, but hearing it now made you realize that a screenshot of your brother in a ghillie suit belonged on there instead of in an e-mail to him. He’d be beyond pissed at that point. Head in your hands, your guffaws went on and on until tears spilled from your eyes.

“I’m glad you find this so funny,” he shouted over your high-pitched howls, shaking a ghillie suit covered finger at you. “You might think I’m overbearing, but it’s for reasons like these that I have to keep you in check. But if you want to spend the rest of your life at a dead-end job with no potential of doing anything else, then I can’t stop you.”

That last bit was enough to sober you into a glare, although the smile hadn’t quite left your lips. 

Reaching for the lid of your laptop, you replied, “Speak for yourself,” before slamming it shut.

\/\/\/

The entire month of June drawled on in nothing but overtime and boredom. As Quinzi predicted, the Community Center’s schedule did nothing but overbook itself after the Fantasy Faire, rolling out the weeks with soccer and football games, shows at the convention center’s stage, and one bluegrass festival with seven outdoor stages. Because you’d taken the weekend for the Fantasy Faire, Quinzi forbade you to go to the festival in any other fashion, save work. So, work it you did.

Nyx and your other Glaive friends spent most of the month away on duty, traveling the perimeter of the kingdom for reasons Nyx wouldn’t outright divulge. 

“Perimeter protection,” he said. From what, you could only guess.

It left you lonely and anxious. Without Gladio and the others in your life, it made Nyx’s absence that much more disheartening. You wanted to go to the Candace Fruit Festival with them, or, well _somewhere._ It was summer, your favorite time of the year. Who knew you could spend it being so bored? If you wanted to attend any of the fruit festival’s summertime events, you’d be going alone.

Quinzi had zero problem filling your loneliness and boredom with an absurd amount of overtime to compensate for the events that he had difficulty filling—especially when those events led into the aftermath of mischief. After one soccer tournament that resulted in a full house, thanks to the participation of Talcott, the presence of the Amicitias in turn, then Adviser Scientia, and, of course, Noctis, you were stuck scraping egg off of the announcer’s booth window long after it had had a chance to harden. Neither you, nor any other custodian saw it—hell, even Quinzi failed to notice. It only became a big deal when the Shield himself phoned it in. 

You gave your best ninja imitation in avoiding him when you were dubbed with the task of scrubbing it away. Donned in a ratty gray hoodie you borrowed from Reimund that looked more like a beggar’s dress on you, you proceeded to chisel away at the golden goop with a scraper, sitting atop a rather tall ladder with a pitcher of warm water in your other hand. Gladio didn’t hang out long to see who had been appointed to the cleaning task, only that it got done.

During the bluegrass festival, a drunk patron drove right through the metal gate closing off the east end of the Community Center, knocking the entire thing off kilter. You hadn’t been on site for that, but Quinzi asked that you and Harv—who _had_ been there—to deter all approaching traffic until the tow truck could arrive to haul the shameful display of crunched car away.

“Bubba Blue,” Harv called out in amusement the moment he saw you.

You returned the sentiment, although sitting at a “crime scene” was the last place you wanted to be, especially since you’d been in the middle of cleaning up vomit in your least favorite stone privies bathroom. You made sure to take the outside locks with you every time you cleaned them now.

Smiling, you replied, “Bubba Blue.”

“It’s a fine day to have some serious accidents,” he said, turning to the annihilated Audi before the two of you. It smoked from under the hood like a wyvern’s snout, the damaged radiator serenading the world around it in a peaked, watery hiss.

Several feet away from the Audi, the authorities had two teenagers in handcuffs, and spoke to them in low tones, but not so low that you couldn’t eavesdrop. Apparently, the under aged souls were siblings, and had stolen papa’s precious automobile to go joy riding. Papa also never locked the liquor cabinet, resulting in an extra fun, tumultuous joy ride.

“That it is,” you replied, trying hard not to laugh. It had been a while since you’d seen Harv the mere mention of Bubba Blue was enough to lighten any situation.

“Yes, sir,” Harv went on, “Just look at this gate.” He gestured to the damaged metal gate. “Looks just like the day I bought it.”

Playing along, you added, “Someone hadn’t been wearing their safety gloves while driving.”

That earned you a nasty glare from one of the teenagers just before one of the authorities led them to the back of a police car. You flinched and smiled to hide your embarrassment.

“Oops,” Harv whispered. “Could’ve been another serious accident.”

Yes, indeed. Indeed it could’ve been.

The actual accident didn’t happen until mid-June, right in the middle of Lambert’s custodial closet. His closet was nestled in between Luche’s fancy private office and the Glaive uniform room. If there had been one thing—although, there were _many_ things—Quinzi mentioned on more than one occasion, it was to not leave the water on in the custodial sinks. 

“I don’t give Titan’s shitting ass, head, and hole if you’ve got the water splitter on,” you remembered your boss’ booming voice quite clearly. “The hose still has the potential to leak, and, besides, it’s just courteous for the custodian coming in right after you.”

The custodian in question at the time had been, of course, Chadwick, and the victimized custodian none other than Quinzi, who approached you all in the Mess Hall, drenched so badly, you would’ve sworn he’d come from a second shower wearing his work uniform. Sometime last year, if you remembered correctly. The memory came flooding back as you and all of your C District coworkers stood in the hallway leading down to Lambert’s closet, ten-twenty at night. You’d needed to come back to the property to turn in your uniforms to be laundered for the next day. Now, you wish you hadn’t.

Water pooled in the hallway, glimmering under the fluorescent lights like an artificial lake. Since no one else appeared to be around when this much water had appeared, you could only chalk it up to a major leak. Or a running faucet. This night, of course, was a night in which Lambert had been scheduled off, so how it happened, you couldn’t wrap your head around.

Reimund tiptoed across the water, which engulfed the tops of his steel-toed work boots, in order to reach the door of the closet. For some reason, he thought it to be unlocked, and fumbled for the keys on his carabiner when it wasn’t. You and Ermin hopped through the water to his side while Chadwick hung back, shuffling away from the water when it threatened to come too close, like a sludge monster or something. Too short to see directly above Reimund, you distinctly heard the sound of water funneling through a pipe, and even caught sight of spraying droplets of water.

“Godsdammit,” Reimund grumbled, twisting the faucet knobs until the sound and sight of evident water faded away. “Lambert left the water running again.”

“No harm, no foul,” Ermin said, gesturing out into the empty hallway. “Looks like all the Glaives went home for the night.”

“There’s always a Glaive present,” you corrected, knowing better. “They’re just not down in this area at this time of night.”

Ermin looked you up and down, a smirk playing at his lips as he regarded you with something you didn’t care to know the definition of. “Yeah, I guess you’d know, being a Glaive’s girl and all, which rooms are empty at which times of night.”

Pressing your lips together, you shoved both men out of the closet to reach for the mop bucket. It wasn’t worth it to argue with any of them. They never missed a chance to go for the jugular, no matter how many years old the rumors were.

“Excuse yourself,” Reimund said, but moved out of the doorway.

“We need to get the halls mopped before someone _does_ come down here,” you replied, eyes focused on the rippling water in order to avoid seeing Ermin. The rumors once implied you knew how to _properly_ handle a mop. You were willing to show him what you knew, in the sexy form of a Nutcracker.

As luck would have it, upon Chadwick’s first glance into Luche’s office, the water did _not_ just stop its journey in the hallway. Your mulleted coworker took ample time in retrieving the carpet extractor, and arrived just as you and the others finished mopping the hall. While Chadwick took to pulling the water from Luche’s garnet colored carpets, the rest of you agreed to swear to secrecy the events of the night. Quinzi didn’t need to know, the Glaives didn’t need to know, and Captain Drautos _sure as hell_ didn’t need to know.

Turning on the lights to the Glaive uniform room, you let your groan be known at the inch and a half pool of water gathered on the floor, soaking a bundle of uniforms stacked there. You had to hide the evidence, lest you all be found out. When you knelt down to read the name on the tag of the now-not-clean uniforms, you snickered.

Sucked to be Tredd.

\/\/\/

The Little Phantoms spent all of their practices out on the Community Center field, which went on three days out of each week, and always on the days in which you worked. You didn’t mind, though. The soccer coach, Lennard, always had the kids clean up after themselves, and made himself available to talk to in case there was anything you needed from him—schedule, equipment, necessities—the usual. It made clean-up the easiest part of your day, especially when you had other events to tend to, like the never-ending shows on the convention center stage. The production crew never cleaned up after themselves like soccer was willing to, and left grandiose messes that they expected you to take care of. You don’t remember “scrubbing gaffer tape” and “packing up staging equipment” being a bulleted point in your custodian’s contract, but maybe you just simply overlooked that part.

Doubtful.

The other thing that surprised you was Talcott’s forwardness at getting to know you better. You were the girl dancing with Ignis at the Fantasy Faire at the end of last month, he said through stifled laughter. Oh, yeah, he’d added, and then the two of you got soaked on the rack.

You frowned when he mentioned that part.

Whether or not the boy knew about Gladio’s feelings for you, you weren’t sure and never brought it up. It was enough that the Shield never came to join in on the practices, but you chalked it up to him being busy doing Shield things. But Talcott referred to you as “Ms. Janitor,” primarily out of politeness, even after you’d thrown him your real name. You gave up correcting him after a while, especially when it became apparent of his friendlier purpose.

He talked of his fondness in playing soccer, not for the sport, but as a way of making friends. He had quite a few at school, but his own duties in a noble’s home kept the air stiff and awkward. He confessed that he had little of that to worry about while out on the field. He played as a midfielder training to become a sweeper, as Lennard suggested it after having watched the boy’s method of playing. Out there on the field, no one saw him as a retainer’s grandson and he got knocked down just as much as the other kids. You weren’t very familiar with soccer terms, but the way Talcott described them brought a shine to his face—especially his eyes. You felt honored that he had become comfortable confiding something so dear to you.

One afternoon in late June found you changing out the trash can liners during one of their practices, on one side of the bleachers, when you were approached by the Shield’s sister, who’d come to watch Talcott for the pure interest of it. You turned and nearly ran into her, your mind focused on the task at hand. You dropped the full trash bag from your hand and slapped the other over your drumming heart.

“I’m sorry,” she shrieked with a little hop backward. “I thought you saw me standing there.”

A smile wobbled onto your face as you reclaimed the fallen bag. “No, it’s my fault. When I get to working, I get into a zone and tune out everything else.”

She giggled and pointed to your face. “With those, you mean?”

You touched your cheek, then realized that you were still wearing earbuds, the soft sound of meditative music lulling through them. You’d needed their presence now more than ever with the inconsistent schedule and site changes that Quinzi demanded.

Matching her giggles, you said, “Yeah.”

She locked her fingers behind her back and swayed on the balls of her feet, the ends of her dark dress moving in time against her tiny frame. “I’ve heard from Talcott that you’ve been cleaning up after their practices. He’s got a lot of fun stories about the two of you.”

The smile on your face felt more like a generic stamp than the feeling it was meant to evoke. If Talcott had told Iris you were there, then Gladio had to have also known. Was this some kind of intervention? If so, you were ready to fire back that this was your job and you only went where you were asked.

Perhaps the stamped smile had failed, because Iris’ faded also. “Oh, no, it’s nothing bad, I swear. I just wanted to come down and chat with you is all.”

She didn’t know you from Ramuh, save the couple of meetings at the Fantasy Faire. Only one reason posed its ugly self at you, and you weren’t in the mood to beat around the bush.

“About Gladio,” you put it out there and walked past her to toss the trash bag from the fourth step of the bleacher into the bed of the 4x2. 

It sailed into the passenger seat instead with a single bounce. The bag popped open and trash fell everywhere, even onto the ground. As if to commemorate your terrible throw, the bag sank in on one side and tipped out of the seat, completing its fall to the ground with more scattered trash. 

A fine day to be driving the Green Convertible.

“I…” she trailed off. “Not initially, no. But I guess it’s been on my mind.” Her eyes glazed over the length of the bleachers before she quietly asked, “You got a minute to talk?”

You really didn’t, but you peeled the nitrile gloves from your hands and stuffed them into a breast pocket to toss later. Hands slick with sweat, you unabashedly rubbed them on your shorts, and gestured to the bleachers, reflective in the sun’s light.

“Have a seat,” you said before doing so yourself.

Maybe it was your imagination, but she moved warily toward you before seating herself with a foot of distance between you.

“Since you brought it up,” she began, and you recognized the shake in her voice, “I guess I should let you know that I didn’t know what Gladdy’s motives had been until after his attitude started to change.” Before you could defend yourself, she hastily added, “I’m not blaming you or anything, and you shouldn’t feel bad about turning him down. Gladdy’s a romantic at heart and has this idealized perception that he always has to be the great warrior protecting everyone.”

Her words softened you as a vision of Nyx came to mind, flashy smile and all.

“Yeah,” you said and propped your chin in your hand. “I know a doofus like that.”

You both turned your attention out to the field, the little soccer players, including Talcott, running laps around the circumference of the fence. Lennard clapped, blew his whistle, and shouted commands with the thing pressed between his lips.

Iris spoke again, “Gladdy might be a bit mopey now, but he’ll snap out of it.” 

That caused you to turn your head.

“Wait…” You mentally thumbed through your next words carefully. This was all a bit strange for your liking. “He’s taking it _that_ badly?”

She giggled—not at all the reaction you expected. “My big brother’s got an ego the size of a catoblepas and a skull thicker than a kujata’s horn. He’s not used to being rejected. I really wouldn’t let it bother you.”

You weren’t sure how her metaphors truly measured up to Gladio’s pain, but they had the opposite effect on you than she’d vocally intended. Eyes cast down to the red splotches on your knees from where the sun had baked them, you mumbled, “I really didn’t mean to hurt him. Has he really been acting all out of sorts?”

Maybe it was to keep your spirits high, but Iris kept smiling. “If anyone hurt Gladdy, it was himself for seeing something that wasn’t there. Honestly, he’s like that. Once, he got into a big fight with Noct because Gladdy thought Noct had taken me off castle grounds without permission. He wouldn’t listen to reason, even after I told him what happened. I was pretty young back then, and didn’t know what to do, so I started to cry. Only then did he listen to me. But he had such a poor image of Noct prior to that and wouldn’t accept anything different.” Her smile widened as she looked up to the sky, her profile haloed by the afternoon sun. “It’s funny, seeing them now. They’re best friends.”

You hadn’t known that. After seeing them together for several months, you would’ve had to agree with Iris.

Sighing, you trailed circles around your knees with your thumb. “He used to be my friend, too. I sort of miss that.”

“He’ll come around,” she said. “I promise, he’s resilient. But, I figured that if he’s cut you off for now that you’d probably be bothered by it.” Her eyes glanced sideways at you. “Sorry for butting in. I know it’s not my place, but you both looked really happy at the Fantasy Faire. I just thought that you should know.”

You found it hard, but tried to smile. Even if it looked as fake as it felt, you were still grateful. “Thanks, Iris.” You didn’t know what you were thankful for, or if and how the situation was supposed to help you, but it seemed like the most appropriate thing to say.

She rose and dusted herself off. “Besides, from all the things Talcott’s said about you, I realize that my brother had to have liked you for a reason. I was hoping we could be friends, if that’s not too strange a thing to ask. There aren’t many people who work in the Citadel that are as young as all of us, and my dad’s always really busy with the king.”

You inwardly chuckled at the thought of what she’d consider to be as young as all of you, considering she looked no older than sixteen herself. But, you knew what it was like to be in a place where no one fit your age bracket.

“Of course it’s not too strange,” you said and made sure your hand was dry and clean before offering it to her. “Here’s to a new friendship.”

She took it without reserve. “I’m glad. Thanks for talking with me.”

But, really, you could’ve said the same thing yourself.

\/\/\/

_**“Tredd put in a complaint with Bauer’s, saying that he’s missing a large stack of uniforms. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”**_ Nyx’s text had your laughter echoing in the empty theater as you cleaned up equipment from yet _another_ staging event.

You’d trashed the uniforms almost three weeks ago, and only _now_ the redheaded termite was noticing? Then again, most of the Glaives had been out on the “perimeter protection” Nyx spoke of, so you supposed that it wasn’t that strange after all. Still, you pictured the scene unfolding with utmost glee: Tredd standing there, after having worn the same few sets of uniforms over and over again for the past month, coming into the uniform room with absolutely _nothing_ to wear. All of his other Glaive compadres had their uniforms in nice stacks and appropriate amounts. But not poor ol’ Tredd.

Again. Sucked to be Tredd. 

Bauer’s was the Citadel uniform company, and you felt slightly bad for them, as they’d be taking the rap for your cruel deeds, but they’d replace the uniforms after a bit of scolding from Captain Drautos, or whoever cared. Because you certainly didn’t.

“ _ **I have no idea what you’re talking about,”**_ you fired off the reply. _**“I’ve been holed up at the Community Center since April. I hardly come to C District anymore, remember?”**_

You didn’t have to wait long for a reply. _**“Holed up or not, I know your mean streak. Don’t be careless, Danny. Drautos doesn’t find lost funds as funny as you do.”**_

So what? It was coming out of the Glaive’s department budget, not custodial. And who cared what any of them thought anyway?

Remembering the vow of secrecy between you and your coworkers over the little _flooding_ incident, you sent one last reply, _**“Really now. I have no idea what you’re talking about. Have a nice day.”**_

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t text back after that.

You weren’t sure how much more you could take of the production crew’s negligence toward their own equipment. You were struggling to remove the melted mess of gaffer tape from several extension cords with denatured alcohol when Reimund called. It was both a welcomed and bothersome distraction; you’d already been scrubbing one cord for almost forty-five minutes and the only progress made was going through an entire box of nitrile gloves.

Ripping the rubber disaster from your hands, you answered the call and pressed the phone into the crook of your neck. “What’s up?”

You jolted as static exploded into your ear from the receiver, and the phone nearly tumbled from your shoulder. Reimund was already talking by the time you regained your composure and interrupted him to start again.

_“Where you at?”_ he asked.

You glanced up at the catwalk, lighting, and curtains before replying, “Convention center, staging area. Why?”

_“I need your help. Can you come up to the Citadel?”_

You paused, letting your eyes zone in on the thick theater curtains in particular. “Why?”

_“One of the nobles needs help moving a bookshelf. Thing weighs more than Titan’s pinky and I can’t do it by myself.”_

None of that made sense to you. “What are you doing at the Citadel anyway? You’re supposed to be in C District.”

_“I’m working Lajos’ area. Now, are you gonna come help me or am I gonna have to come and drag you over here?”_

You found yourself momentarily surprised that Quinzi would trust Reimund to work the Citadel run, but if he and Jaron were cool with it, then all you had to worry about was cleaning gaffer tape off extension cords. “Yeah, give me fifteen. I’m on my way.”

_“Awesome. I’ll let the noble know. Meet me in front of the elevators on the twenty-fifth floor.”_

He hung up and you stared at your phone until it transitioned back to your default background of a sky and grassy plain. You’d thought about changing it, but, until you found the right picture, you weren’t going to mess with it.

Right now, you had other questions, and all of them involved why it had to be _you_ who had to help the House Aristo move his bookshelf. It wasn’t like you were a welcomed face at the Citadel, and Harv had been allowed to come back, so why couldn’t Reimund ask for his help? And, even if it wasn’t Harv, there was always Ancil just several floors above him.

Shoving your equipment, the denatured alcohol, and goopy mess of extension cords into a corner, you left through the two double doors in the back and exited the convention center.

\/\/\/

The need for your help become painstakingly clear when the elevator doors opened like a show curtain, both Reimund and Ignis standing there. You stared from your place inside the little box, and had half a mind to punch the close button on the keypad, along with “Lobby.”

“Hey,” Reimund reached inside before the doors could close and gestured for you to come out. “We’ve gotta get this thing moved as soon as possible. Adviser Scientia has a meeting in twenty.”

Your eyes turned to Ignis, whom was dressed in a black suit with a maroon undershirt and matching tie. Actually, the tie looked two or three shades darker. His formal attire threatened a smile from you, especially with his out of place driver’s gloves. He met your gaze with a stiff smile and nod. You tried to return the gesture, but felt your lips wobble under his attention. Of course the gods wouldn’t let you avoid Gladio’s friends or sister for long, and a month just seemed like the right amount of time. Naturally. You hoped they wouldn’t notice that your knees were shaking. What a bad day to wear cargo shorts, in early July.

Never one for small talk, Ignis moved right into the point. “I’ve a bookshelf just down the hallway that needs to find its way up to my office. The problem is, as luck would have it, there are a set of stairs that it needs to ascend before completing its journey to the elevator.” He gestured to the one you just stepped out of.

You only had to picture the steps in question for a moment; they were a familiar hindrance from when you had to clean Lajos’ area back in April. You couldn’t understand the architects’ thinking. What had been the point of randomly inserting steps in the hallway of a single floor? Aesthetics? What happened to practicality? All it did was serve as a pain in the ass for trying to get the custodial cart and mop bucket up and down them. Although only three steps, and a wheelchair lift to its left, they were shallow and steep. You’d almost tripped many times on them.

And, here they were again, your acquainted nemesis, standing in your way to custodial productivity.

Clapping your hands together once, you turned back toward the elevator, set for Lajos’ closet. “Great. I’ll bring down the dolly.”

“Already have the bookshelf loaded up on it,” Reimund replied and motioned for you to continue down the hall. He let you go first, and Ignis walked beside you. He added, “Just need some help getting it into the lift and to the elevator.”

You quirked a brow, not expecting that course of action. “Why not go up the steps? I can pull the dolly from the back if you push from the front.”

“I’d prefer to be safe about this,” Ignis cut in. “It’s a very expensive bookshelf from Mrs. DuPont, and I’d be less than pleased to have it fall and splinter into thousands of pieces. Surely, you understand.”

You pushed your tongue into your cheek and averted your eyes. Firstly, you doubted that a bookshelf could splinter into _thousands of pieces._ Secondly, you were glad to see that Ignis’ sarcasm hadn’t waned during your radio silence of each other. If you’d known that Reimund’s favor had been for him, you would’ve declined. You already knew that Ignis hated you for rejecting his best friend, but he didn’t have to humiliate you at work to let it be known.

“Yup,” you said.

The bookshelf didn’t even look like it was priced at two bones, much less the two thousand Ignis quoted. Any middle class fool could afford an iron red, laminate bookshelf, although a feeling bubbled up inside of you that the quality was much nicer than laminate. Ignis didn’t appear the type to accept anything less than ungodsly expensive. His blatant display of his annual salary grated on you. Even if he was receiving it as a gift, why tell you how much the furniture was worth at all? Yes, you were poor, no need to rub it in. And, by his strict inference of how he’d be helping you, he, clearly, still had no confidence in your custodial skills. You waited until he had his back to you to speak to Reimund before rolling your eyes at him and making a face sporting disapproval. The two spoke of a “strategic” plan in getting the bookshelf into the wheelchair lift—which was the only enclosed lift you’d ever seen and, again, wondered why there were steps in the hallway at _all—_ and then out of the lift.

Reimund’s use of your name drew you back into their conversation and he pointed to the dolly. “Take the top handle and hold it. I’ll try to push it back while you keep it steady.”

“Wait a minute,” you protested. “If it weighs more than Titan’s pinky, then why are you giving the hardest task to _me?_ ”

“I’ll be helping as well,” Ignis said. “If you steady the dolly, then I can guide it back while he tilts the bookshelf. Between the two of us, I’m certain we can get it into the elevator.”

You blew air into your cheeks, liking that idea even less, although it amused you that House Aristo Adviser Scientia would dirty his hands with moving something heavier than he. “Then what?”

“I’ll operate it from the outside,” Reimund said, pointing to the little panel next the lift door. “We needed a third person because there are also controls on the outside, as well as inside. Safety measures.”

Yeah. Your ass.

“If there is a control panel inside, why can’t we just operate it from there?” you asked him.

Reimund replied, “Because that bookshelf is going to be too heavy for you to operate it once you get inside.”

You nodded to the dolly. “Then why don’t you take the handle and I’ll tilt it back?”

Your coworker appeared exasperated. “Again, it’s too heavy for you to tilt. Now, stop being argumentative and grab the handle.”

He didn’t see the eye roll you gave him as you turned away, but felt confident that Ignis had. “Yes, sir.”

You felt the adviser’s eyes on you long after you situated yourself behind the dolly and bookshelf. Gripping the handle, he stood beside you, his own hands on the back and side of the wood. From around the front, Reimund counted to three, and you braced yourself against the dolly as you tilted it. Ignis guided the bookshelf back, lessening the weight of the wooden beast against you, but it towered over you by a good foot.

“I can’t see anything,” you said, doing your best to hold the dolly steady.

You glanced up just enough to see Ignis’s hand shaking from the heavy strain, and you imagined his knuckles draining to white under the gloves. It took a beat, but you realized that he was buffering more of the weight than you gave him credit for. What a courteous House Aristo.

“I’ll get the lift door open,” you heard Reimund from in front of the bookshelf. “Just slowly bring it forward, and I’ll guide you.”

At the very least, he did that well enough, and Ignis took the cues and commands with nods and direction. The adviser’s hand fell over yours to steer the dolly, lining it up with the wheelchair doorframe.

“I’m capable of driving this,” you complained, but didn’t pull away. If you had, the bookshelf would’ve teetered back without a hope of catching it, crushing you both like a house on a witch, little hands and feet wiggling from underneath, helplessly.

“It’s my property,” he reminded you, adding a labored grunt at the end of his words. “Despite your best wishes, I’d like for it to arrive upstairs in one piece, not four.”

You regarded him with incredulity. Yup. That whole friendship proposal back at the Fantasy Faire? Totally out the window. Jerk.

“I’m not a moron, Adviser,” you said, feeling it best to use formalities from here on out, even if other names flashed through your mind. “And don’t assume you know what I’m thinking. Assumption doesn’t look good on you.”

Ever unfazed, he squared himself behind you and the bookshelf, both hands tightening against the wood.

He lowered himself so that his chin brushed over your shoulder, most likely to get a better grip on the bookshelf. “Your paycheck doesn’t cover the cost of _this_ damaged bookshelf,” he said. “Perhaps we should call on someone more capable?”

Before you could whirl on him with flurries of attacks, both verbal and physical, Reimund greenlighted you to push the bookshelf into the open lift. Ignis’ chest bounced off your back as he walked directly into you.

“Hey!” you snapped, flinching at the sudden contact.

“Are you going to help move the bookshelf or not?” he asked. “I _do_ have a meeting to attend very shortly. I’d like to make it before it ends.”

Snarling, you positioned your hands firmly on the handle and pushed. The tires dropped into the thick space between the edge of the floor and cabin, most likely due to the garula weight of the bookshelf. On three, you and Ignis pushed the bookshelf into the small cavity of the cabin and stood in place while Reimund closed the door behind you. A small light triggered above, softly highlighting you, the adviser, and the furniture in question. Although tucked between it and Ignis, you made out the small space around you. 

The edges of the bookshelf just ghosted by the metal bars on each side, and colored you impressed that the damn thing had made it inside at all. The ceiling hung low, only a good six or so inches above your head, and Ignis had to stoop to avoid colliding with it, hovering over you like a wide-framed canopy, causing you to curl your upper lip in discomfort. Even the bookshelf was too tall to properly fit inside. You had to keep it leaned back against yourself, the bottom of it pressed against the front of the cabin with it angled over your head. You’d never been inside a wheelchair lift before—never had a reason to be, but the claustrophobia smashed you harder than you imagined that Ignis’ stupid bookshelf would’ve.

Speaking of Ignis, did he _really_ have to stand right on top of you? You knew it was a tight fit, but damn.

“Very tight confines,” he said after a moment, and you couldn’t agree more. In a louder voice meant for Reimund, he added, “We’re securely in. Can you operate the controls on your side?”

Although muffled through the walls, you could still hear your coworker’s, “Just a sec.”

Ignis mumbled, “Certainly hope a second is true to context. This is a tad uncomfortable.”

You could almost feel his cheek against yours, the smell of mint and a thick, almost woodsy fragrance of aftershave. You liked it, even if you had pictured him wearing something a little lighter.

“Tell me about it,” you quipped back, recalling the close proximity of his body to yours. The last time that had happened was Fantasy Faire, when you both had been acting and he’d deemed it necessary to kiss you. It caused you to quiver until you felt your stomach churn with nausea. You were certain your disgusting presence elicited the same reaction from him. “Hope he hurries.”

You attempted to distract yourself with thoughts of the staging area and if you had properly put your cleaning supplies away before leaving. If someone other than your department workers came upon them—

This was stupid. Ignis was making you uncomfortable and nothing changed that.

“Reimund,” you called out. “What’s taking so long? There are only two buttons on the panel—”

Your body rocked back into Ignis’ who fell against the door as the inertia interrupted you. Your arms reacted as the dolly tipped, locking against the handle while Ignis steadied it with his own grip.

“Sorry,” Reimund said, the grinding of the elevator drowning out his next words.

The elevator lifted slowly. Like, a sickly reapertail could move faster. The pull waned on your knees, and you had to bend them in time with the elevator cabin to keep from swaying. You kept your eyes on the back panel of the bookshelf, anticipating the conclusion to your awkward ride.

And it did come. Except, you were still a good foot and a half from the top door, the small, chiseled glass window shining a cone of light inside. The cabin bounced until it finally stopped and you didn’t bother to stifle your annoyance.

“Ha. Ha. Very funny, Reimund,” you said. “Whenever you want to stop screwing around. It’s pretty cramped in here and neither of us are very comfortable.” You meant that last part more than anything else. This was the closest you had ever been forced to be with someone who wished Titan’s meteor would fall on you.

Undoubtedly, you convinced yourself, Ignis hated you. You’d hate you, too, for obliterating your best friend’s heart into a trillion pieces.

You strained your ears upon the slightest sound of clicking coming from outside the door, particularly on the side that now sat beneath the elevator cabin. It grew frantic as the seconds passed.

“Well, shit,” Reimund said.

“What?” you blurted. “What’s wrong?”

“I was afraid that this might happen. The elevator’s gone and locked itself up.”

You stiffened at his words, reeling them over and over again in your mind. Although you’d already understood the concept of being stuck quite clearly, the concept of _how_ came across as lost on you.

“Is this elevator prone to locking up?” Ignis asked, his voice and demeanor betraying no hint of alarm, unlike you.

“Not in the sense of breaking down. It’s a wheelchair lift, and it’s very sensitive. It’s probably having problems registering your current weight, given that it’s not a wheelchair. If the damn thing senses anything amiss, it locks the doors and stops the lift from moving. Major safety concern.”

“So, our weight distribution is the culprit,” Ignis said, and you felt him shift behind you. “If we were to adjust ourselves, is it possible to trick the sensor into believing that we have a wheelchair on board?”

“Couldn’t hurt.” Reimund continued messing with the switches, but the elevator remained immobile. “Nothing I can do on this end. Try spreading your legs or something. Keep the bookshelf centered in the middle.”

Ignis did just that and tapped your shoulder, motioning for you to do the same. Exhaling through your nose, you balanced yourself between holding the dolly still while sliding your legs out until they touched the walls of the cabin. Although a narrow space, you swore you were only a strain of leg strength away from doing the splits and dropping the bookshelf on both of you. He must’ve sensed your struggle because he pressed his chest up against your back, and adjusted his grip on the bookshelf. You immediately flinched.

“Allow yourself to relax,” he told you in soft tones.

“Kind of hard to do that between holding my balance _and_ this thing.” You nodded to the bookshelf. It would be best not to comment on his position against you, although you couldn’t help but wonder why he’d moved forward. In a minute, you were going to call bullshit on the close confines argument.

“I mean that you can lean into me. Surely, that will reduce the strain on your body.”

Your lips pressed into a fat frown before you could register the meaning behind those words. But, the muscles in your legs and forearms burned from locking them, and you wondered how long you could keep yourself in such a strenuous position.

Wordlessly, you let your weight sink into him, flesh held by a walled mass of muscle. You didn’t even feel bad about not holding back; your arms felt like they were on fire. From outside, Reimund cursed and mumbled to himself as he continued to flip the controls.

Then, he called your name, causing you to start. “There should be that second panel next to you with the same controls as out here. Try pressing them and see if that gets the thing moving.”

That seemed all but possible, considering your position, and you recalled Reimund saying the same thing earlier. You wanted to compare yourself to Titan, but felt certain that the Astrals would call that blasphemous. Maybe, but Titan never got himself stuck in a wheelchair lift before with someone who planned to infect him with the Scourge. Ignis offered to take the brunt of the weight while you fumbled with the buttons and hurriedly punched each one. They lit up, but did nothing more.

“Fucking Shiva,” pushed through your lips before returning your hands to the dolly.

Reimund said, “All right, then I’ve gotta find the manual. Jaron should still be on site; I’ll go get him and come right back.” A pause, then, “I’m really sorry about this, Adviser Scientia. Is there any one from the meeting I can call to let them know you’ll be late?”

Finally, the strain seemed to be taking its toll on Ignis, even if it caused his voice to waver only a little. “No, I’d rather just see the end of this through. I’ve also noticed an emergency button on the console here. Perhaps we should just call for help?”

“Ahhhh, it’ll take them a long time to get here. Besides, we might get into trouble for putting something other than a wheelchair in the lift. It can damage the equipment and then the civil rights agency will get involved, which puts you in the limelight—”

“We get it, we get it,” you snapped, bending your legs as best you could to ease the tension. They shook and burned so much that they itched. “Go get Jaron and bring him back.”

“Hold on tight,” he said before it went silent on the outside, and you wondered if he was trying to be funny.

“Dammit,” you said and groaned. “He had an idea that it was going to lock up on us. No wonder he didn’t want to get into the lift. Asshole.”

“Yes, I must confess that my interest is piqued as to why he chose to conceal that bit of information.”

“Don’t think on it too hard. Reimund may be a lot of things, but vindictive isn’t one of them. He probably wasn’t thinking. Or was milking it.”

“Pardon?”

You shifted against him, and his chest moved with yours. It seemed amusing, almost as though he were trying to meld his body into yours. It made it easier to adjust to the bookshelf’s weight, but the mere thought of him so close felt like needles in a pin cushion, and you, of course, were the pin cushion.

“Your asking him for help got him out of doing what he’s supposed to be doing,” you continued. “Although, once Quinzi finds out that he gave the okay to put a bookshelf into the wheelchair lift, he’ll be in a buttload of trouble.” You realized too late that your suffering mood had displayed itself through colorful verbiage. Best to put a cap on that, especially in front of the adviser whom hated you. “Anyway, let’s just hang tight for now.”

He chuckled. Before you had the chance to ask what was so funny, he said, “I daresay that our situation is as cliché as it gets, according to the storybooks.”

You couldn’t stop a corner of your lips from curling upward, threatening a smile. It was a good thing he couldn’t see you. “I’m pretty sure that it’s an elevator that the characters always get stuck in, not wheelchair lifts,” you mumbled.

“Then we’ve made the situation unique.”

You tilted your head to the side, although you still couldn’t see him from this angle. “Guess I should’ve pegged you as an avid reader.”

“Very avid. Although, it pains me to say that I don’t have the time to pick up books the way I used to anymore. I’ve resorted to listening to them through the means of my phone, but it’s just not the same as thumbing through real pages.”

“Audio is the way to go these days. But I don’t have much time to read, either. Although, I guess I could use work as an excuse to listen to them during my shift.”

“Never talk yourself out of finding ways to read. They’re the greatest arsenal in any given situation, and, of course, serve as the best portal through the imagination that one can find. No real substitute for it, I’m afraid.”

Before you knew it, your smile had grown. Talking about books felt like the last conversation you’d be having with the man. A million other things had come first, from your dismissal of Gladio’s feelings to the shoddy way you conducted your job. Hell, you were surprised he was talking to you at all. But, he went on for another few moments about books, which led into hobbies, and a couple of his.

“For example,” he said, and you tuned yourself back in, “I have a passion for cooking.”

“That’s right,” you said, feeling more animated in the crux of the conversation. “Gladio mentioned that you’re a really great cook.”

As soon as the words flew from your mouth, a sharp stab pierced your stomach in the realization of what you’d said.

So much for that.

As expected, the conversation withered and silence passed between you for several long seconds that seemed to stretch into minutes. It felt that way, anyway.

Still, it wasn’t like Ignis could just walk away from you, and you really wanted some kind of closure. Being disconnected from the group sucked, even with the uptight, prissy adviser in the picture.

“I’m really sorry…” you whispered, becoming acutely aware of the strain in your arms and legs again. They were shaking so bad that you could’ve sworn you were rocking the cabin. “You must really hate me.”

You caught the low grunt from the back of his throat, and dreaded the second he opened his mouth. He let the moment drawl on in anguished silence.

“I find myself perplexed by the notion that has lent the impression that I despise you.”

Resisting the urge to relinquish your hold on the dolly to face him, you let his words settle into your brain before dryly replying with, “How about the fact that I rejected your best friend?”

He hummed and hawed, although it felt like for show. Knowing Ignis, he’d already known that this conversation was bound to come up. After all, you were stuck in an elevator together, classy as that was. No one was going anywhere.

“Be that as it may, I pride myself on the ability of remaining neutral when necessary.”

The more you thought on it, you _did_ recall a particular memory—one you hated—of you both on Gladio’s balcony. Ignis had confessed to something of a similar nature, about not resorting to “tit-for-tat.” Funny that would come up now, here of all places, but you were thankful for its reiteration. At least the man was honest about something, even if he wouldn’t outright admit to hating you.

“Could’ve fooled me,” you couldn’t stop yourself from saying. “I never heard from you again.”

His tone shifted—haughty or something, making a noise as though something were caught in the back of his throat. “I never heard from _you,_ either. Friendship goes both ways, I’m afraid. I’d attributed your silence to embarrassment over the circumstance with Gladio and would return when you were feeling more capable.”

Pursing your lips together, you mulled over the idea of _embarrassment_ over what happened with Gladio. Certainly, you wouldn’t have chalked it up to that, but no other word readily came to mind. As to Ignis’ other charge against you, well…

“I didn’t think you wanted to be friends,” you mumbled, eyes zoning in on the black control panel under the metal bar, the buttons highlighted green. “I thought you hated me for hurting him. You know the old saying? ‘Bros before hoes.’”

Although his voice softened, it didn’t come without laced irritation. “There’s that word again, _hate._ It’s a rather strong word, and bears no hold here.” He shifted behind you, his chest sliding against your back. No doubt, he was just as uncomfortable as you, and bore more of the weight against the bookshelf. “I do believe we came to a mutual understanding at the Fantasy Faire, yes? A new, formulated friendship.”

A lump formed in your throat as you pushed out, “Yeah, for the sake of Gladio and his feelings for me. I figured that was null and void after I turned him down.”

“Perhaps, it would be in your best interest to cease assuming what all other parties are thinking and feeling and simply ask. As I recall you saying only a short while ago, assumption isn’t something that suits you.”

You snorted at him turning your own words against you, but replied, “I’m just saying the way that I remember it, and you _did_ say that.”

He fell silent again, but it appeared to be more thoughtful than before. All that echoed in the cabin was the hum of the stalled elevator, and you wondered how much longer Reimund would be. The tension was getting too thick for you, and you thought you’d choke on it.

“Fair enough,” he said and it seemed like he meant it. “Then, allow me to make myself clear—I still hold value in the friendship I proposed that day and for no other reason than a genuine friendship with you. Will that suffice?”

Bemusement took hold of you and were thankful that he couldn’t see. A second proposal of friendship was the last thing you expected from a man whom, less than twenty minutes ago, mocked your monthly salary.

“And, for the record,” he added, “I _also_ recall amending that previous proposition as well, but we shan’t fuss over the details.”

A laugh welled inside of you and burst through your mouth. “How very like you. But, yes, I’d like that very much.”

He chuckled as well, and, for that moment, you wished you had enough room to maneuver and see his face. “Then it’s settled. No more talk of hating one another.”

Nodding as you took his words in, you said, “Agreed.”

“As for Gladio, I’ll see what I can do.”

That struck the lightning bolt of fear into you and you _did_ try to turn around this time. His body kept you locked into place, which was definitely a good thing. Your jolt had caused the bookshelf to teeter on the dolly, and Ignis leaned forward to catch it. His chin swiped your ear, prompting a hiss from you.

“I’d rather you don’t do that,” you said, tilting your head until the injured ear met your lifted shoulder. You rubbed it there for a moment, wishing it had been your hand instead. But you weren’t going to let go of the dolly a second time. “I’ve resigned myself to never talking to him again.”

“Is that because it’s what you want?” He didn’t wait for you to answer before continuing, “Friendships need to be cultivated and matured, even when the worst stands between you. Gladio may appear intimidating and unapproachable, but he’ll come around, eventually. Sometimes, he just needs a push in that direction.”

It was the second time you heard that about Gladio. If Iris and Ignis could say it, then you found that you could be hopeful, yet.

“I don’t need a buffer,” you said. “It’ll just make things worse.”

“Don’t think of it as a buffer then. Consider it an act of friendship.”

And you did consider it, but had to remind yourself that the act came from Ignis, and Ignis was a _lot_ of things. But, since you had no reason to doubt him, and didn’t believe you’d be seeing much of him again after this tiny hiccup—because, hey, you rarely worked B District, you gave him consent to that act of friendship.

When Jaron and Reimund arrived, Jaron came on scene in mid-sentence, berating the other about the jeopardizing of many things that the inappropriate use of the wheelchair lift had caused. Reimund remained silent, and you could only imagine the facial reaction of your coworker. Either he was covering for Ignis’ persuasion of using the wheelchair lift, or it had been Reimund’s idea after all.

Jaron proved to be the man with the plan, flipping some switches on the side of the elevator and then messing around on the backside where the door you were supposed to be exiting through before the ordeal struck. All the while of him doing whatever he was doing, he apologized profusely to Ignis like a broken record. If you hadn’t known better, you would’ve pegged Ignis as the royal one, not Noctis.

Five minutes and a fair amount of curse words later—many of them involving the testicles of all Astrals but Shiva (chesticles would’ve worked all the same, you figured)—you and Ignis jolted forward at the abrupt inertia, him pinning you against the dolly by mistake. The grind of the elevator gears came off as a new song you could match on guitar—heavenly and free. A moment and open door later, you were exactly that.

Jaron’s incessant apologies drowned out anything you or Reimund tried to say. Even Ignis’ attempt at diffusing the ordeal fell on hysterical deaf ears. At Jaron’s insistence, he helped Ignis, single-handedly, impressive enough, dolly the bookshelf the rest of the way to the elevator. You remained silent in the hallway, side-by-side with Reimund, and listened to the booming graveling made by the B District supervisor.

“Are we in trouble?” you dared to ask before Jaron’s echoes disappeared down the hall.

“Undoubtedly,” Reimund said and exhaled. “But it’s not like we can exactly blame the King’s Hand for anything. We were the ones who agreed to do it.” At your immediate glare, he amended himself. “ _I_ agreed to it. But the adviser was adamant.”

You resisted the urge to shove him as you shot back, “Yeah, but you knew that the elevator was going to get stuck.”

He sidestepped your sudden closeness and wagged a finger at you. “No. _No._ I _suspected._ Big difference.”

“Not to Jaron, it’s not.” Even as the words left your mouth, you knew that it was futile to argue. Changing the subject, you said, “I still don’t understand why _I_ had to get involved. I’m busy at the stage. Why didn’t you ask Harv or Ancil?”

His brows lifted in confusion and dropped his wagging finger to his side. “You mean you didn’t know?”

You imagined yourself as a direct reflection of him. As soon as you were able, you managed, “Know what?”

Reimund gave something between a chuckle and a sigh as he shook his head. “Now _I’m_ the one who doesn’t get it.”

“Get _what?_ ”

Stilling himself long enough to study you, he must’ve realized that you had no idea what he was referring to. After a moment, a smile appeared to accent the creases on his lips. “Adviser Scientia _ordered_ me to get you over here. Said he wasn’t comfortable letting someone he didn’t trust move his furniture. That’s why you had the dolly and I had the controls.”

You thought you heard him incorrectly. You were positive of it. But he repeated it, slower and much clearer, and you found that you didn’t mishear him at all.

“Thought it all was a little strange…” he mumbled, swiping a hand through his salt and peppered colored hair. “I was wondering when you’d gotten chummy with the adviser, especially after flooding his room.”

Yeah. You wondered, too.

Well.

Damn.

Color you confused.

_***_

_Quinzi had a change of heart and called you at the very end of June, nearly two months since you’d moved to Insomnia. He said he didn’t like lying awake at night, worrying about some girl that was down on her luck. It made him think of his own daughter, who’d moved to Lestallum to attend college there. Apparently, she was fascinated by pylons and wanted to become an engineer. Despite Quinzi’s protests at her moving so far away, she left five years ago and never looked back. All of this and much more he told you over the phone, while you’d been in the shower, no less, so the water ran cold as you stood there in a soaked towel, shivering._

_You were to start work that next morning at six for training. You’d have liked a little more advance notice than that, but it was a job, and you weren’t lucking out on anything else. It turned out that Quinzi was very knowledgeable, and not just about custodial. He’d done it all, from gas station attendant in Hammerhead to mariner off the coast of Galdin Quay. You spent most of the work shift quiet as he talked, if not about his own life, then about the custodial duties expected of you._

_Swabbing toilets, lining trash cans, sweeping, mopping, cleaning windows, chemical dispensers and how much, the floor machine, the trash compactor, utility vehicles—you swore your brain was going to implode at everything you needed to know. By the end of the first day, you were certain you weren’t going to be able to remember it all. And those few things weren’t even the half of everything you needed to know._

_You found that out the hard way, second day on the job, when Quinzi asked you to come in early to help work the Chocobo and Moogle festival. You’d heard of the one in Altissia—it was one of the most famous attractions Accordo had to offer—but had no idea that Insomnia offered an imitation of it. It wasn’t even a poor imitation at that. The thing was huge, and you found yourself overwhelmed at the sight of the Community Center. How had this been tucked away on the other side of the Citadel and you hadn’t known? You felt a little cheated, and wished you could’ve participated in the festival, rather than work it._

_For the first hour, you followed Quinzi around, helping vendors and the production crew set up everything they needed. Some facades still needed setting up, and the chocobos were coming in at noon to be saddled for the big parade. Awestruck at the scenery change around you, you were certain you’d stepped through the portal of a video game. Balloons of every color dotted the sky, whether they’d been set free or tied to every railing in the Community Center. Three big stages had been placed around the field for musicians, actors, and you’d even heard a rumor of a chocobo mascot roaming around, teaching kids the Chocobo Shuffle and Boogie._

_Carnival attractions, such as dart throwing, water guns, ring toss—those things were dandy, but you kept coming back to the makeshift gondola set up with a constructed moat around the convention center. Working or not, you were determined to sneak a ride on it before the day was through. Inside the convention center were panels, photo shoots with iconic mascots, including the wandering chocobo teaching fun dance moves, and the theater, which involved an interactive play for children. Sound speakers were set up all around the premise for PAs and background music._

_At the end of that first hour, you felt more like a child than you had in all of your eighteen years. Several times, Quinzi had to reel you in, reminding you that toilets needed scrubbing and trash cans needed changing and lining._

_The Crownsguard and Kingsglaive roamed the large vicinity; apparently, the royal family were attendees, although you had zero privilege in witnessing them. Along with the elusive king and prince were their Shields and other retainers, not that you saw any of them, either. The royal guards were about all you were allowed, and none of them were as friendly as they had been when you’d gone to the Citadel to apply for jobs. Perhaps they were just as discouraged about missing out on the festival as you were._

_At noon, you and Quinzi opened the stables for the chocobos, and Quinzi abandoned you when a radio call came in, asking for help in setting up for the parade. The entire production crew, Crownsguard, and Kingsglaive with a radio shared the channel. Sometimes, it became pretty difficult to hear what everyone was saying. He left you in charge of a single enclosed utility vehicle with no doors or windshield, and you nervously sat behind the steering wheel while the chocobo trainers prepared the birds. You hoped you wouldn’t have to drive it, but, as the time neared for the parade to begin, Quinzi called you on the radio to come up to the top of the Community Center. The radio was another contraption you struggled with, finding the button to push in to answer him. It fumbled out of your hands and clanked to the ground._

_This was shaping up to be a fine second day of custodial work indeed._

_The parade marched up from the Community Center, and zigzagged through the streets of Insomnia. Its destination: a big loop from East Gate to West Gate, and back behind the Citadel for public photo shoots. It spanned five miles minimum, from what you guessed, but the parade functioned like a relay race, so none of the participants actually had to walk for that long. Positioned somewhere along East Gate, you were wedged between an overzealous crowd and several parked cars at the mark of the second relay. You drummed your fingers along the steering wheel of the utility vehicle, waiting for the parade to pass by. Then, you’d been instructed to move along to the back of the Citadel, at the finishing point._

_The distress call came in droves over the radio, and you hardly understood everyone over the static and each other. A chocobo had gone rogue, nonsensical and hilarious as that term came across to you, and now tore down the streets at lightning speed, smashing, crushing, and running over everyone and thing in its path. Everyone was instructed to retreat indoors._

_Then, a blur of yellow streaked by you._

_Acting on instinct, just like you knew how to do in the video games, you turned over the key, cranked the engine, and bolted out after the runaway bird before anyone else registered what was going on. The streets hadn’t yet become an uproar of panic; it had sort of been left up to you to make that announcement. Never mind that, you said, throwing it all to the wind._

_You had a chocobo to catch._

_Weaving in and out of parked cars, meandering pedestrians trying to get a closer look, and barricades, you bucked yourself up against the steering wheel, stooped forward, eyes glued on the bird. Chocobos were fast, but, thanks to the top speed of the utility vehicle, which you were certain you hadn’t yet reached, it kept the bird from becoming a blur of feathers. It hopped over cars with flapping wings like they were fallen logs, and crossed from one side of the street to the other._

_When it made a sharp right up onto the sidewalk, you had very little time to warn the family standing there, and watched as they hurled themselves to the side. The utility vehicle’s shocks did little to absorb the blow when you made it up onto the curb, knocking your teeth together and chin to your knuckles. Still, you withstood the pain, soldiering on after the chocobo, who disappeared around the back corner of an alley._

_You certainly hoped that there was an exit there._

_The answer to that lay in the form of a loading dock, the ramp aimed slightly left of your position. It came on too suddenly, and you had only a splitting hair of a second to veer the moment you exited the mouth of the alleyway. The bird was already dozens of feet ahead, and you ignored that going airborne with the utility vehicle was absolutely a terrible idea, bracing yourself against the steering wheel with eyes locked ahead. All you could hear in the momentary lull were the wind rushing past you and the chirping radio filled with frantic calls._

_The vehicle nosedived at the bottom, scraping the front bumper with sparks, before tipping onto its back wheels. You had little time to thank the Astrals for their mercy as you instinctively corrected the vehicle; the chocobo had already passed into another alleyway. The engine sounded off, but you ignored it as you disappeared between the narrow confines of the alley. You swore that the space grew smaller and smaller around you, and you drew your elbows in closer to yourself, despite knowing that nothing would save them were you to wreck._

_A twinkle of light beckoned your eyes back to attention, the speckle of yellow feathers and red saddle bounding out into the open. If that damn bird could squeeze its ass through to the end, then so could you. Although your foot had pressed the pedal to the floor, you still imagined the increased acceleration, just as though you were racing in the Lestallum One-Thousand._

_A shadow danced out before you could reach the end of the alley tunnel, the white of the figure’s eyes burning into yours. Your foot froze against the gas pedal, the adrenaline coursing through you faster than the gas in the engine’s tank. Then, the figure seized something from around their ankle, hurled it in your direction, and disappeared into a cloud of blue smoke._

_You screamed and yanked the wheel to the left, just as you barreled through the end of the alley way, a heavy weight materializing beside you. Then, the blue smoke blinded you, a strong smell of burnt wires and metal wafting up under your nose. A hand fell on top of one of yours, and you both corrected the wheel before the vehicle overturned._

_“Nice driving,” the figure said, prompting you to offer a quick glance in their direction._

_It was Nyx, or, at least, you were eighty percent sure it was. Eyes refocused onto the road, he reached over his shoulder to pull something from the seat. Another glance from you, and you recognized it as some kind of large dagger._

_Before you could demand to know where it had come from, he pointed straight ahead. “Keep going that way. I have an idea.”_

_“But the chocobo’s headed left,” you protested._

_“That’s fine. Keep going.”_

_Straight brought you into another alley, pedestrians screaming and darting out of the way. A green dumpster lay in wait for you inside the alleyway, but Nyx grabbed the wheel and veered slightly to the right._

_“_ _**I’m** _ _driving,” you snapped, shoving his hand away. “You focus on locating the chocobo.”_

_“Yes, Ma’am,” he replied, eyes cocked to the right. “Sorry, I didn’t think you saw it.”_

_“I can see everything. Just focus on the chocobo.”_

_He chuckled, but your heart raced from the excitement. In truth, you hadn’t seen the dumpster at all. It felt as though everything was happening around you, and you had little control over it. At the end of the alley, he commanded you to turn right, and you swore that the utility vehicle lifted on one side. Nyx almost fell into your lap, and you out the vehicle. He yanked you back into place by the sleeve of your uniform, and bounced in his seat to even the weight of the vehicle._

_Back on all six wheels, you refocused your attention on the bird, which had gained a considerable amount of distance downhill from you. You weren’t even sure where in the city you were, much less how far from the Citadel you’d traveled, but you were positive that you weren’t in the parade or festival area anymore. Nyx stuck his head out of the window, shouting for spectators to get out of the way. His words affected some, and others became aware of your vehicle’s presence almost too late._

_Coming back inside of the vehicle, Nyx said, “If we can get a good speed going here, then I can warp to the building directly in front of the chocobo and wrangle it that way.”_

_Your face scrunched in confusion. “Warp?” you echoed._

“ _Yeah,” he said, as though it were the most casual thing, like walking, or driving. “I’m a Glaive. Glaives can warp. How else do you think I got into the car?”_

_First of all, and you weren’t going to correct him because there wasn’t any time, you weren’t in a_ _**car,** _ _you were in a utility vehicle. Secondly—_

“ _Now!” He pushed himself through the hole where the windshield should’ve been, one arm propped on the top of the cab, and the other reaching for the big dagger attached by a sheath at his leg._

_You flinched with the sudden yell, but refocused on the approaching bird. It was only a few feet ahead of you, oncoming traffic jerking off to the side of their lanes, honking or shouting. Sometimes both. You dodged one suburban who refused to stop, drifting until you were directly in line behind the chocobo, a good twenty feet ahead of you. With the downhill speed, you were easily closing in, and Nyx pointed to a passing building, the Bank of Insomnia._

“ _There,” he called back to you. “I’m going to warp there. Once I do, move around to the right. Maybe we can circle it on the off chance I miss the bird."_

 _You had no idea what he was talking about, but he appeared confident, so you kept driving straight. Your eyes vacillated between the bird and traffic as Nyx took aim with his dagger and steadied himself against the vehicle. Then, just as you approached the bank building, he flicked the weapon with ease and vanished into a cloud of blue smoke a moment later. The absent weight in the seat threw the balance of everything off, but you corrected the vehicle with ease, and coasted right, just like he told you to do._

_You found yourself up onto the sidewalk, only seconds away from smashing into a group of people like a bowling ball to its pins. Luckily, they heard your shouts long before that happened, and dove off the curb as you passed. From out of the corner of your eye, Nyx reappeared, dangling from high up on the side of the building. When he dropped, you felt your breath hitch._

_You lost sight of him for a short while, but when you arrived in front of the bank, he was there, saddled to the chocobo like he’d been made for riding it. The bird kwehed, head moving in rapid jerks as it surveyed the area. None the worse for wear, you stopped the utility vehicle in the middle of the road, turned off the ignition, and placed your forehead against the steering wheel._

_Quinzi’s first reaction was a direct result of the split in the middle of the passenger seat headrest. Then, he asked about the scratches and dents in the body of the vehicle. For sure, you knew, you were going to lose your job. It didn’t matter that you’d recovered the bird and saved the parade. After staring at the split in the seat, you slowly understood what a Glaive’s warp skill consisted of._

_Banished back to the Community Center for trash detail, you were left wondering what the end result of everything had been. You hadn’t seen Nyx since he captured the bird, and most everyone had gathered to spectate over the situation. Someone even said that they’d caught the chase on video and were uploading it online. If that were true, you were going to have to find it, even if the act had cost you your job. A frightful thought hit you like a baseball bat, and you wondered how the king would react when he found out that you’d almost run over one of his Glaives. Those thoughts spiraled into other thoughts of a serious nature, all eventually rippling into grisly ends for you: beheading, firing squad, made to walk the plank._

_By the end of it all, you were shaky and nauseous._

_An hour later, still feeling just as queasy and anxious as before, Nyx approached you. It was the end, you knew it, and he’d come to escort you away to see King Regis. Now that the commotion had settled, it was the perfect time for a beheading. Something to keep the audience riled long after the parade had ended._

“ _Say, great teamwork back there,” he said, eyes moving from your grabber and trash bag up to you. Then, he extended a hand. “Nyx. Nyx Ulric.”_

_You felt glued to the spot, caught somewhere between shaking his hand and gripping the trash supplies tighter. Thoughts still wrapped in dubious motivations, Vico and Tredd’s words rebounded off the walls of your mind. It wasn’t like you’d see Nyx again, and you’d rather not get beheaded outright. The uniform you currently wore was a loner, and you thanked the Astrals for that._

_Setting the grabber and bag aside, you pulled the gloves from your hands and wiped them on the back of your shorts._

“ _Danica,” you managed, face blank and unreadable. At least, you thought so. “Danica Heartport. I’m standing in for a custodian who’s out sick.”_

_He cast his eyes down at your shirt, probably realizing that there was some merit to your lie, since you were probably getting fired after this day was over anyway. Then, eyes back to you, he smiled and said, “Pleasure to meet you, Danica.”_

_Later, you realized two major problems with your lie: one, you most certainly weren’t getting fired. And two, loaner uniform or not, there had been a big sticker with your_ _**real** _ _name (along with the whole, “Hi! My name is…”) printed across it and stuck to your chest._

_Nyx must’ve thought you were a real dick once he effortlessly clued into your fib._

_***_

Thoughts of a darker nature took you by storm these past few weeks, and you found that you couldn’t shake them when Vico and his words haunted your mind. Maybe it was because of what had happened at the campfire during Fantasy Faire with Tredd. Maybe it was because it was four months away from the three year liberation day of the breakup between you. Or maybe, just _maybe,_ you realized how fucked in the head you were over relationships because of him that it was damaging any future attempts at happiness, shown by your later relationships, and had even been an indirect cause to the lack of friendship between you and Gladio now.

Whichever or all of them that it was, it inspired a song for you to write, compose, and play at the Bazaar that night after your elevator incident with Ignis. You were proud at having created the piece in only a few hours, mainly humming it to yourself as you worked. _He Thinks He’s On My Mind_ became an important part of your night, and you took breaks in between scraping gaffer tape off of extension cords and sweeping the theater to scrawl the lyrics out on a piece of ripped paper towel from the bathroom.

By the time you belted it out on stage for open mic night, you had the entire song figured out. It would also be the first time Nyx had ever heard you sing, although he could only view the show from Libertus’ cell phone on video chat, since he was still blackballed from the Bazaar until sometime after October. The heavyset Glaive positioned the screen toward the stage as your fingers strummed chords.

You kept your eyes focused on what you were doing; after all, it wasn’t just Nyx who’d be seeing you play like this for the first time. Many of the other Glaives were hanging out tonight, too, and you felt sheepish and judged under their scrutiny, even if they weren’t judging you at all. Crowe had pushed two four-tops together in order to make room. Elea, Miles, Jenica, and another Glaive named Delilah sat at one and Crowe, Libertus, Pelna, and Yura sat at the other, although Yura had slid his chair between Jenica and Delilah, engaged in the conversation there. Somewhere during the night, Luche, Payton, the other Firestarter Glaive, and Gutsco moseyed on in, but hung out somewhere near the back of the patio. You only noticed them because the stage was situated four feet off the ground, and it was hard to miss anyone if they weren’t directly in the line of view with the stage lights. Those blinded you.

At this rate, you expected Tredd and his married posse to come on strolling in, too, since a third of the Glaives were at the Bazaar anyway. You swore, if you spotted his messy mop of red hair, you were going to switch the song to the one you’d sung at the Fantasy Faire.

Being the fifth or sixth time—you couldn’t recall exactly which number—you’d done open mic and with no Le Spectre to stir your jitters, you managed to perform the song to your expectations. That was a feat in itself, you felt, since you’d just composed the damn thing in only a few hours. You deserved an extra congratulations for that, and migrated to the bar after you cleared the stage to order something strong. The bartender was new, but attentive. You liked that, especially in a place you considered classy, despite outstanding commentary from others around the city.

You let your phone drop on the counter and took a seat on the stool while you waited. A new text message alerted you, and you wondered what Nyx had to say about your stage performance. You couldn’t wait to give him the scoop on the song’s inspiration, and who all had shown up at the Bazaar.

But you didn’t recognize the number.

_**“Since you’re so insistent that I hate you, I thought I’d commemorate our friendship with our very first cellular exchange.”**_

You didn’t need a name to the unknown number. After the initial shock of having the stuffy royal adviser text you wore off, you hovered over your phone, fingers skittering across the keys. 

_**“That’s very sweet, Iggy. How did you get my number?”**_

You didn’t have to wait long for a reply, giggling all the while in between. The bartender shot you a stare when the next text came through, and you didn’t bother to restrain the laughter.

_**“That’s not at all the response I was expecting. But, if you must know, your boss sent it to me on the night of your unfortunate restroom ordeal. I hadn’t needed to use it then, nor needed a reason until now. Does this answer satisfy you?”**_

Leave it to Ignis to provide a novel-sized response to a simple question. When your drink arrived on a black coaster, you swirled the glass in one hand and debated on an adequate reply. You considered throwing Reimund under the bus, demanding an answer as to why Ignis had requested your presence that afternoon in moving the bookshelf. Now that the coeurl was out of the bag, skepticism and mistrust painted all things regarding the adviser. You wanted to know what his game was that much more, but considered holding that trump card for a little while longer. 

The drink sloshed over the lip of the glass and onto your hand, prompting you to set it back down on the coaster.

_**“Very much so,”**_ you wrote back after wiping the mess clean. _**“And with that out of the way, let’s begin our very first friendship text conversation. What are you up to?”**_

It was pretty generic. You knew that, but what else did one write to the Hand to the King? The Chamberlain of Prince Noctis of Insomnia? Adviser Ignis Scientia, stationed to the Royal Crown?

You trollishly omitted _Peeping Tom_ from your thoughts.

He must’ve been bored or in lull of doing something better because his replies came pretty consistently.

_**“Cleaning Noct’s apartment. He tends to leave it rather messy. I’ve a book going on audio in the background, so it’s keeping me fairly sane.”**_

You didn’t realize immediately that you were smiling. _**“Yet, here you are, texting me instead.”**_

_**“I must confess that our latest conversation has become a pressing matter in my mind. But, forgive my insensitivity. What are you up to at present?”** _

_**“I’m down at the Bazaar,”**_ seemed a little too inappropriate as it were. He would’ve pegged you as a barfly or something. So, you amended it to, _**“I’m playing a piece down at the Bazaar.”**_

A hand gently knocked against yours the moment you sent the message, and you shot your eyes up to Luche. You’d heard rumors of his award-winning smile, and did nothing short of remind you of Vico, whom you found to be a waste of time thinking about. Stripped of his Glaive coat, leaving him in the undershirt of his black and gray uniform, he took the stool next to you.

If you hadn’t thought your mood could get flushed so quickly, it was because you’d forgotten that there were people like Tredd and Luche in the world.

Ignis text back, _**“Playing a piece, you say? Could you define that a little more for me? Is there some sort of competition going on? I must confess, I’ve never been to the Bazaar.”**_

“Is that Nyx?” Luche asked, his head nodding to your chirping phone.

It wasn’t any of his business, and you had half a mind to tell him just that. But a simple, “No,” was the only thing that fell from your lips.

His smile widened. “I heard he got banned from here.”

You shrugged and turned back to your phone, making quick work of a reply back to Ignis. “Only for a little while,” you said, trying to be as vague as possible.

_**“No, it’s open mic night here, and I wrote a song to play.”**_ Even though it was Ignis, and you hadn’t had the best rapport with him in the past, you _much_ rather would’ve been communicating with him than Luche.

“I liked that song you played up there,” the Glaive went on and motioned for the bartender to come by. “It sounded like it was meant for someone close to you.”

You didn’t know what he meant by that, and didn’t really care. Ignis replied and you’d just gotten through reading his text when the bartender approached you both.

_**“Ah, yes, you play the guitar. I’d almost forgotten. Have you already gone onstage? I’d be interested in coming to hear you.”**_

That would’ve been a sight indeed, although you found it a little amusing that he would drop his adviserly duties in cleaning the prince’s royal apartment for something so minuscule. You could almost picture it now, the Royal Adviser himself down at a scuzzy bar in Ghetto Insomnia to watch a custodian play a hate song for her ex long since gone. It actually dismayed you to have to type back, _**“I just finished, unfortunately. Had I known you were interested, I would’ve invited you.”**_

You popped back into reality just as Luche finished telling the bartender to put your drink on his tab, and that he wanted a gin and coke. Alarmed, you opened your mouth to protest, but the bartender went away.

Your eyes trailed after him, missing the first part of what Luche said next. Shaking yourself back into the moment, you said, “Pardon?”

Luche paused, open mouthed. Then, he repeated, “I asked if you’ve played the guitar long. I wasn’t aware you could.”

Big. Fat. Lie.

Most of the other Glaives had been around since you began playing back in April, and if there was one thing they did, it was talk. Skepticism hung over you and you wondered what his game was. Still, you decided to humor him, if only since he was paying for your drink.

“Only a year,” you said. “But I’ve always enjoyed singing.”

He nodded, like he was actually listening to what you were saying. The uncanny thing was that you were pretty sure that he was. Your phone chimed again, a reply from Ignis. It reminded you that Nyx hadn’t called or texted to let you know what he’d thought of your song. If anything, of course, he was probably still talking to Libertus, who’d been chatty all evening.

You snuck a glance at your phone as Luche asked, “Have you received professional training, then?”

From Ignis, _**“That’s a shame. Please do, for next time. I’d like to come watch. By the way, since we were discussing the others earlier, I’d meant to ask if you’ve yet seen the pictures Prompto posted from the Fantasy Faire. If not, perhaps you’d like to. I noticed that you were on the group page.”**_

You hoped you kept a straight face in front of Luche as you ran Ignis’ words over and over again in your mind. First of all, why on Eos would Ignis care if you’d seen the photos of Fantasy Faire? It didn’t seem like something that even _he’d_ care about. He had to have been _really_ bored cleaning Noctis’ apartment to ask something so mundane. Secondly, you were amazed that Prompto hadn’t removed you from the group, much less his friend’s list. Perhaps the thing Ignis said about cultivating friendships was true, after all. Especially since he’d taken the time to text you first.

Without missing a beat, you told Luche, “Actually, I haven’t. But I grew up listening to a lot of Lestallum music. They’ve got the most romantic accents, don’t you think?”

He appeared to like where you were taking this, especially since his eyes lit up at your use of “romantic.”

“If you think that’s romantic, have you ever heard a Galahdian sing in their native tongue? Coastal Galahdian, especially. I think they could give you a run for your cash.” With that, he pulled his stool closer to you. Pretending not to notice, you downed half of your drink in one go.

“Libertus does a fine job of belching out the Galahdian alphabet,” you said, and took another swig for good measure. 

You didn’t even know if that was true; he and Nyx never spoke much in their native tongue around you for some ungodsly reason. The only reason you knew the words “hello” and “goodbye” were because you had researched them and then asked Crowe for confirmation that you weren’t saying something like “pudding” or whatever instead.

You tried to sneak a text back to Ignis without Luche noticing. A twinge of irritation twisted into you, as though someone were taking a screw and drilling it slowly into the back of your neck. Luche had never so much as asked for your opinion, but he deemed conversation to be appropriate? You were wary, _very_ wary indeed.

The bartender returned with the gin and coke, and you quickly fired a reply back to Ignis while Luche paid for your drink and his.

“ _ **I haven’t seen them, yet. Are there any in particular that I need to know about?”**_

“Libertus is the last person I’d ask to give an example of our amorous language,” Luche said after the bartender took his card and left to settle the tab. The Glaive stared directly into your eyes, and you drew back a little. To occupy your mouth from saying anything disrespectful, as wonderful as that might’ve been, you seized your glass and nursed the last of your drink. “But, if you’re ever curious, I can be pretty eloquent.”

“My Lestallum Beauty!” came a boisterous voice from behind Luche. Drawing your attention from the Glaive, you were amazed to see a very enthused Pelna dancing his way up to you. It appeared very out of character for him. Perhaps he was drunk, especially since he bounced his hands off his chest several times and said, “You made my heart flutter up there on stage.” Then, giving a very poor imitation of your lyrics, he attempted, “‘He thinks he’s on my mind, it happens all the time, and even if no one listens, I feel myself maligned.’ Such heartfelt words. You are truly a master.”

You weren’t sure about that, and felt that way even less after he recited that particular line. It wasn’t your favorite and still needed to tweak it a bit.

He embraced you from behind and playfully shook you, much to the obvious chagrin on Luche’s face. It only made you laugh harder, even though he’d almost knocked the drink right from your hand.

“She is, isn’t she?” Luche said, but his tone had gone flat. With a smile that appeared painfully mustered, he added, “Well then, I can’t leave my crew waiting forever. I’m afraid I’ll have to get back to them.” He tipped his half empty glass at you and vacated the stool. “I’ll catch up with you later.”

As to which “crew” he referred to, anyone keeping company with Firestarter Glaives had to be of suspect character to begin with, at least, you thought so. But you were happy to see him go, even if you wouldn’t vocally say so. Once he disappeared outside, Pelna released you, and you immediately caught the flicker of embarrassment on his face.

“Sorry,” he said, averting his eyes. “You looked uncomfortable, and it was the only thing I could think of to do.”

You chuckled as the realization hit you: poor, shy Pelna wasn’t drunk at all. What a gentleman.

“I was going to say,” and you poked him in the chest. “You’re not usually that bold around women.”

You were met with a rueful chuckle of his own, but his eyes eventually found yours. “Tredd’s outside, too, so Crowe sent me to find you. Is it any wonder that I find you with problems of your own in here?” He offered his hand. “So then, I propose a stroll.” His extended hand wilted as he shrugged. “Well, actually, that was Crowe’s proposition, too. But I’m happy to do it, if you are.”

You rolled your lips into another smile, eyes cast down into your empty glass, save the melting ice and water pooling at the bottom. The ice shifted as you placed the glass back onto the counter and said, “I’d be happy to take a walk with you, Pelna. I don’t think it’s something we’ve ever done before.”

And, indeed, you couldn’t remember there ever being a time. The Glaive often spent his presence in the backdrop of things, at least, while you were around. He was one of Nyx’s good friends, but hardly ever attended any of the get-togethers with Nyx, Libertus, and Crowe. But, again, that was only what you saw of him. It made you realize how very not a part of the Glaive world you were, even if Nyx was your big brother and Crowe and Libertus your good friends.

Pelna appeared pleased at you accepting his—Crowe’s—proposal of taking a stroll, if only to get away from unwanted company. He assured you that Libertus and Crowe would hold down the fort until you got back, and text when certain parties had migrated elsewhere.

“Crowe seemed worried that you might start a fight with Sonitus over what happened at Fantasy Faire,” Pelna said and grinned.

You narrowed your eyes. “Oh, she did, did she?” But you couldn’t argue with that. She was probably right.

Once out the door, Pelna cut a sharp right around the side of the building, taking your hand in his, and you both wove between crowds of stationary people, until you reached the back parking lot, full to its capacity.

While Pelna scanned the lot, you fished your phone out of your pocket, remembering that you _had_ been in a phone conversation with Ignis. He’d text back a while ago, almost immediately after you’d asked him the question about the photos (which you’d forgotten until you reread your last text). Still nothing from Nyx, and you rolled your eyes.

Ignis said, _**“Nothing to warrant any kind of emotional distress, but I thought you’d like to see them, nonetheless. How’s your night at the Bazaar?”**_

The words burned into you as you read them over and over. It really wasn’t like him to make small talk like this. There had to be something in the photos that he wasn’t telling you about. But the fact that he kept ending each text with a question made you wonder, too.

You replied, _**“It’s pretty packed here, but it always is on open mic nights. How’s cleaning Noct’s apartment?”**_

“Hey, there’s a man-made park with a giant pond back through here,” Pelna said after a moment, arcing his arm to point to the far back of the parking lot. “Have you ever been down there?”

You actually had to think about it. With as much time as you spent at the Bazaar, you could only recall being down there once or twice. You’d have to remedy that.

“It’s been a while,” you admitted. “Want to head that way?”

He’d already started walking when his, “Sure,” reached your ears.

A posted sign reflected against one of the Bazaar lampposts, catching your eye. It introduced Calnoque Park, in honor of the family who’d donated the funds to make this little jewel in Ghetto Insomnia possible. The sign also provided a small, bird’s eye view of the park, drawn most certainly not to scale: a paved path encircling a large pond, which had a large fountain in the shape of the Citadel out in the middle that no one could get to unless they swam to it, although it was ill-advised.

A single gazebo, benches and picnic tables, and abstract art structures dappled the path along the way, and, even from where you stood, several glowing lampposts dotted several points around the path, like beacons.

“I used to come out here quite a bit with Nyx and Crowe a while back,” Pelna said, waiting for you to catch up. “It’s one of the only places in Insomnia where there are so many trees that you can’t immediately see a skyscraper without trying to look for one.”

Deciding to test his theory, you waited until you’d both descended the stony steps and disappeared into a clump of trees that led you to the beginning of the trail. Craning your head heavenward, you actively sought the Citadel, as it was the tallest structure you could think of, and you immediately knew which direction to find it. Pelna had been right—from this angle, you could only see the haloed glow of white peeking out from the very top of the furthest tree. Either these were some damn tall trees, or the elevation from the Citadel to the Bazaar was considerably lower, or farther away.

“Libertus never wanted to come?” you asked, eyes still cast toward the Citadel. 

Sometimes, you still found yourself amazed that you’d been able to score a job there at all. It just seemed too above you. Residing in that one building was the king, and every faction that governed an entire kingdom. Unbelievable, at times, to know that you made up a part of that faction, no matter how insignificant it felt.

Pelna chuckled. “Let’s just say that long walks aren’t Libertus’ thing.”

You glanced sideways at him, armed with a smile of your own. “But, he’s a Glaive.”

He hummed and hawed before settling on, “ _Unnecessary_ long walks aren’t his thing.”

That actually earned a laugh from you. Pelna continued down the path in slow strides, turning his head toward the still waters of the pond, save for the rhythmic rippling of the fountain way out in the middle. You followed his gaze. At night, the fountain lit up in a various array of colors to highlight the Citadel. It was both funny and fitting that the city would choose the castle as the centerpiece, but it looked like a watery rainbow to you from where you stood.

The water was probably warm enough to swim out there, but you doubted that Pelna would go for it. Besides, the alcohol was kicking in, that strong drink in particular, and you doubted you’d have the energy to make it all the way. He turned his head toward you when your phone chimed, and you dug it from your pocket to check the message.

Good ol’ Iggy, keeping the conversation going.

“ _ **The cleaning fares absolutely terrible, as loath as I am to admit about our royal prince. He should consider moving into a much smaller apartment to keep it more manageable. However, the book I’m currently engaged in at present has carried my mind away to another world, so I’m willing to forgive Noct for leaving dirty dishes as tall as Ravatogh.”**_

Although he hadn’t posed a question this time around, he’d opened another door of conversation—one that would’ve been very rude of you to not indulge in.

Fingers making quick work of a reply, you shot off, _**“That sounds pretty tall, indeed. What’s the book about?”**_ before putting the phone on vibrate and shoving it back into your pocket.

“Is that Nyx?” Pelna asked, causing you to stare at him with slant eyes, although, he probably couldn’t see them in the dim-to-no lighting. Why did everyone always assume that every text was from Nyx? You had other friends, too.

…Sometimes.

“No,” you answered, but decided to abstain Ignis’ identity. Too many questions would be asked over something as dumb as a chat about filthy apartments and books. “Just a friend from work.”

Half lie.

Sort of.

“Ah.” Pelna turned back to the path and walked again. As you joined him, he continued, “I didn’t get to hear the whole conversation between him and Libertus, but he seemed pretty impressed with your performance. You have a nice singing voice.”

A half smile was all you could manage, whether he could see it or not. “Thanks. I don’t know sometimes.”

“About which part?”

“About my voice.” But it occurred to you again that Nyx had never said anything to you about your song. It was beginning to bug you as to why. “Although, I haven’t heard from him tonight, either.”

He glanced at you from over his shoulder. “Oh. Well, I know he was on a date while the show was going on. Maybe that’s why.”

You frowned. Nyx hadn’t told you he was going on a date. Well, how surprising that he could be bothered during his date to hear you play, then.

Kicking the dirt at your feet, you asked, “How long have you known him, Pelna?”

The Glaive appeared to genuinely have to think about the answer. “I’d say almost ten years now. We’ve all been in the Kingsglaive a long time, but he was one of the first.”

“So, you didn’t grow up together?”

“No. We grew up in different areas of Galahd. And believe me when I say that, despite it being a little island, each province is like stepping into a whole new place. Western Galahd is nothing like Coastal Galahd, and Central Galahd is almost its own little world. There are other parts, too, and some of them have a language so different than we can’t make heads or tails of it.”

He meandered off the trail as he spoke, getting so involved with home that it made you giggle. Undoubtedly, he was homesick, and it came through like gods’ rays upon him, even if he wasn’t immediately conscious of it. You soon realized where his wandering was aimed, and he walked through the small opening into a wooden gazebo.

“I was born and raised in Attigonie—Coastal Galahdian area, on the east side. My father was a mariner, as one would expect living off the coast, and I helped my mother around the hut.” His smile cut through the dark, highlighted by the lamppost several feet to the gazebo’s left. “Sounds pretty primitive when you think about it, compared to Insomnia, but it was a good life.”

You tried to put yourself in his shoes, what it was like growing up in Pryham, even though you lived in a house, not a hut, and Galdin Quay was only a forty minute drive away. You found that you couldn’t do it, and it was almost insulting to try. Instead, you joined his side in the gazebo, perching your elbows up onto the railing.

“Every Glaive is from Galahd. Even the captain,” he said, surprising you.

“Drautos is Galahdian?”

He nodded. “Yup, every Glaive. He’s from Western Galahd—Wasalow Village. It was one of the first territories Niflheim invaded, along with Cheldeen in Central Galahd.” His voice quieted as he added, “Both Nyx and Libertus are from Cheldeen.”

You stared at him, taking his words in. You hadn’t known that. In fact, listening to Pelna now made you realize how very little you knew about Nyx, despite spending so much time with him. You really _were_ outside his circle of origin, even though it wasn’t your fault. You didn’t have the same stories to relate to with him, or the same language, or even similar customs. So, you let Pelna talk, and you took in every word, because, if Nyx wasn’t going to share it with you directly, you’d learn about it from someone else.

“Seems like a lifetime ago,” he went on, “having to share a village with an outsider. Funny now that Insomnia calls us that. But our families are living back home as slaves in their own country, so, I’d like to think that, as we fight as Glaives, we’re not just fighting for the king, but for them, too. Know what I mean?”

You wanted to say that you did. You truly did. But, you’d be lying, and he’d have known that, too.

“That’s why a lot of folks hate Nyx, but they just don’t get it. He’s got honor, and spirit, but even natives like Tredd see it as arrogance.” He wrapped his hands around the wooden railing and leaned back, stretching his body. “It’s not arrogance. Nyx has saved almost every single one of us at one time or another.”

“Because he lost his family,” you murmured, eyes focused on his tight knuckles as he continued to lean back.

“Yeah. Because of that.” Finally, he released himself with a content sigh and lifted his arms above his head. “Sorry. Been rather stiff lately.”

You hoped he couldn’t see your smile, because it reflected anything but happy. The little bit you’d been able to pull away from Pelna about Nyx made you sad, and on several accounts.

“You either love or hate the guy,” Pelna said, repositioning himself at the railing. “But he’s earned it. I can’t hate him, even if Crowe loves him.”

You flinched, eyes flashing up to meet his profile. “What?”

His laugh came out brittle, like hard candy breaking between your hands. “Oh, come on, don’t tell me you don’t know.” Your silence seemed to drive him on, “The way she always fusses over him, how angry she gets when he does stupid, reckless things, the way his name falls from her mouth as though she’s strangling the word ‘Nyx’ between her lips—none of it? You really haven’t seen it?”

To be honest, you hadn’t, not in the way he described it. You quickly spun memories around in your head, trying to recall a particular instance. Crowe got mad at Nyx often, but she got mad at Libertus, too.

“She even still wears that dumb ring from Fantasy Faire from when the two of them were pretend married. I think it bothers her that he took his off after teardown.”

You had to admit that you weren’t aware that Crowe kept the ring on, especially since she often wore gloves. But, the gravity of it all remained there, nonetheless. An ache blossomed in your heart, like a damaged flower, and you didn’t know whom you felt more pity for: Crowe, or Pelna.

“You’re in love with Crowe, aren’t you?” you said after a moment.

He made a small grunt, and squared himself to you. Although the light of the lamppost highlighted his silhouette, you could see nothing of his face. And, perhaps, that was for the best.

“ _That’s_ what you drew from everything I just said?” he asked, tone heightening.

It would’ve been amusing, like a little schoolboy talking about his crush, except for the fact that this was Pelna, and everyone involved were adults.

Shrugging, you said, “Seems pretty obvious to me.”

“I could say the same about you,” he countered, pointing a defensive finger your way. “Nyx is all you ever talk about.”

“Yeah, well, that’s what siblings do,” you quipped back. “Now, don’t change the subject, Pelna. Spill the beans. How long have you been in love with her?”

He snorted. “Yeah. Just siblings. If you say so.” Then he turned away.

For a moment, you felt certain that he was going to shut the entire conversation down, especially when he exited the gazebo and continued down the trail. You curiously watched him, black form softening into the form of a Galahdian Glaive as he stopped underneath the lamppost light. Dust motes hung in the glow above him, and he truly looked as though he’d been captured by gods’ rays after all.

“I don’t remember,” he said, facing the lamppost. You studied his profile, even as you left the gazebo to join him. Never before had you seen the man appear so somber. “Years, I guess.”

“And you’ve never had the guts to ask her out?”

He shook his head. “I’m not her type. Nyx is her type. No matter how much like him I try to be, he’s the real deal.”

You shoved him, but not hard enough to make him move. Not like you could. Like every other Glaive, he was pure muscle.

“Crowe likes courage, Pelna, and you’ve got to show her that.”

He stared down at you as though you were a strange, little insect, and you were probably acting like one with how nosy you were being. But, if he thought that way, you sure wouldn’t have known it by his grin.

“Crowe and I come from the same area, although, not the same village. Once, I wrote her a poem and memorized it by heart in our native tongue.” You were stuck on two things, even as he turned to descend the small hill toward the pond: one, the fact that he could write poetry. And two, the fact that it was in his native tongue. You’d never heard someone speak in Galahdian for more than, like, three words. Or on some internet video. “I was gonna recite it to her, but, once I realized how much she liked Nyx, I chickened out.”

“I want to hear it,” you demanded, clomping down the hill after him. “I want to hear the poem.”

He whirled on you, surprised, but about your sudden closeness or demand, you couldn’t be sure. “No way,” he said.

“ _Yes_ way. How are you supposed to tell her how you feel if you can’t build up the nerve to say it in front of a stranger?”

He backed away from you, closer toward the pond. “Because you’re _not_ a stranger—you’re _you_ and you know both Crowe and Nyx. Maybe this was a bad idea. I never should have said—”

“ _Pelna,_ ” you said through gritted teeth. “Recite. The. Damn. Poem.”

He was far from the lamppost’s light, so you couldn’t make out his face, but you hoped he wasn’t glaring. You hadn’t meant to come on so strong, but the suspense killed you, and you both wanted to hear the poem, and help Pelna get over his fear of asking Crowe out.

But, mostly, you wanted to hear the poem.

“All right,” he relented with a heavy sigh. “But on two conditions.”

You didn’t like conditions, but you were willing to hear them anyway. “Shoot.”

“One,” he held up a finger, “I recite it in my native tongue, because that’s the way it was supposed to go. And two,” up came a second finger, “you don’t ask me to repeat it in Lucian. Got it?” 

You bobbed your head. “Sure. Sounds fair.”

He turned his back to you and continued down toward the water’s edge. This time, you didn’t follow.

“I lied,” he said over his shoulder. “There’s a third.” A pause, then, “Please don’t tell her.”

Your jaw relaxed into a smile. “Now, why would you go and bring up such a dumb thing like that for?”

He chuckled and stilled himself, facing out toward the pond. All that you could hear for those first few seconds was the soft pumping of water from the fountain far away. But you watched him there, chest heavy as you anticipated the first syllable draw itself from his mouth. Once he began, it came in slow waves, like the stroke of velvet against your fingers. He spoke as if to a lover, something you couldn’t ever recall having been done for you. The way the words rolled from his tongue, the ‘r’ sounds and ‘c’ sounds in particular made you feel as though you were listening to a lullaby. It didn’t even sound like Pelna. He stood there, but the voice wasn’t his.

Your hand automatically whipped the phone from your pocket when it vibrated, a long text message from Ignis awaiting you. It was difficult stifling a laugh; he’d gone into lengthy detail about the book.

Pelna’s voice echoed into the air around you as you silently skimmed the words on the screen, the mental sound of Ignis’ accent and Pelna’s native tongue melding together around you. You related it to the gentle plucking of a guitar string, when you were all alone in your trailer, practicing.

“ _ **The central character is a coeurl, and the reader spends their time behind his lenses as he roams the valleys in Duscae. It’s a little difficult to explain it all in one go, but, right now, the coeurl, who refers to himself as ‘Nameless,’ is prowling through the alcoves and underbrush near Secullam Pass. Nothing escapes him, as he is the leader of that particular territory. He hears the song of the daggerquill in its nest high in the pine, and sees the abra, who attempts to make itself tall against a leaning tree in hopes of deterring its predator, as the abra is effortlessly outmatched.**_

“ _ **Nameless hides in cool shade, near the underbelly of a fallen log, blanketed in moss. Not many rival his strength, but a storm is approaching, although there is nary a cloud in the sky. The sparks playing against his whiskers issue a warning. There is little time to find a safe passage to higher ground. He is the first to know it, although other creatures in the vicinity turn their heads to the north just as a warm wind approaches, dancing around them like a temptress. For only a moment are they mesmerized, before its meaning dawns upon them like the break of the waking sun on the distant horizon.”**_

Your smile widened at his whimsical summary, while Pelna’s poem drifted all around you. You held the phone in your hand, staring at the lit screen until it dimmed, running Ignis’ words over and over again in your mind to the rhythmic sound of Pelna’s voice. It wasn’t often you were able to see stars, but, you were certain you could spot one, and that was all that you needed.

\/\/\/

Crowe drove you and Libertus home in one of the Glaives’ company cars. It appeared that she, like Nyx, had little problem with breaking rules. Speaking of Nyx, the bastard finally deemed it appropriate to text you. Like, many hours later. You stared at his text while riding in the passenger seat, him congratulating you on your performance. You wondered if it even deigned a reply. Eventually deciding against it, you dropped your phone back into your pocket. 

Passed out in the back seat, Libertus snored a serenade that made you want to stick one of your socks into his mouth. Crowe asked if you had a nice walk with Pelna and, with what you discovered over the course of the evening, it was difficult to stop at a mere, “Yes.”

Nevertheless, you thanked her for the distraction and that, yes, you would’ve suplexed Tredd, had you come into contact with him. She laughed and corrected you with an _attempted to suplex_ on your part.

No, you reassured her. You _would’ve suplexed Tredd Furia_ even if you broke your back over it.

You didn’t go to bed immediately after you got home. Instead, you sat awake, butterflies in your stomach, as you logged onto MyFace and searched for Prompto’s private photo group. Lo and behold, Ignis had not been blowing smoke. You were still a registered member and over five-hundred new photos awaited you in the Fantasy Faire album. It took you almost two hours to go through them, pictures of different vendors and booths, actors and actresses, a million selfies of Prompto, then of Prompto and the guys—it tore at your heart to see any of Gladio, and the memory made you scroll through any with him faster—and then there were the ones of you.

You and _Ignis,_ to be specific. On the rack, his hand in yours, your face buried into the crook of his neck in an unflattering pose and position. Ignis’ face had been caught in mid-lecture, his lips forming in a way that almost looked like _fuck,_ but you knew the adviser well enough that he would never utter such a word.

Except for that one time on the rack. You were pretty sure he was swearing then.

If one peeked even _that_ much more closely, they would’ve seen the ring on your finger, interlocked with his, and the matching ring on his hand in another shot, covering his mouth. Luckily, both rings were never present at the same time. But still.

You wondered if those were the series of pictures Ignis had been referring to. Realizing that you’d never text him back since his lengthy description of the coeurl named Nameless, you decided to whip your phone out and remedy that, even though it was almost three in the morning.

_**“I saw those pictures you were talking about. Isn’t that wedding ring a little snug on you? We should ask that creepy friar to have it resized to fit better. By the way, that was a very poetic summary of your book. I might have to check it out. What’s it called?”**_

You weren’t expecting a reply back, although you should’ve known better. It wasn’t until you’d nearly climbed into bed that your phone chirped with a new message.

Bringing the lit screen to your face, you chuckled at the adviser’s response.

_**“**_ _ **The Archean’s Dream.**_ _ **”**_

Then, before you had the opportunity to reply, another text came through from him.

_**“No. We should most certainly *not* do that.”**_

_***_

_Sex with Vico always lined you up in the same position, but it wasn’t as though you had anything else to compare it to. He’d been your first, after all, and you were only two months removed from being a virgin. You’d adjusted well—not like the first few times when he’d rubbed you raw enough to draw blood. You couldn’t even walk, the stinging between your thighs bringing you to tears. He didn’t have much sympathy in the matter. In fact, it surprised him that you were a virgin. He told you that he’d never taken someone’s virginity before._

_It appeared to spur him on to keep up the act, but he hated missionary, and refused to let you mount him. He always took you from behind, you on all fours, or pressed up against a counter, you staring down at your shaking hands._

_Tonight was no different, the blankets shoved away until they tumbled from the bed. You buried your face into your pillow as he slammed into you from behind, repeated thrusts gaining momentum. He gripped your thighs until you felt the point of his fingernails, labored breaths heaving with every pump of his body._

_He hated talking during sex, and made commands through action, including when to put the condom on, when to turn over, when to touch him. Whenever he’d hurt you, or rub you raw, you kept it to yourself, taking the fabric of the pillow between your teeth and sawing until it grew wet with your saliva. You dug your fingernails into the sheets as he rammed you, the stinging in your core causing you to scream into the pillow. No doubt he could hear, but he didn’t slow down, and you didn’t stop him._

_He never said your name when he came, this time no different than the rest. But you always knew when he’d come, his hitched breath, the two or three hearty thrusts into you as he drained himself completely, and the way he’d slap your ass the way he would to some kind of prize. Then, he’d pull out, leaving you on all fours with your face buried into the pillow, and you wouldn’t move again until you felt the towel land across your back._

_You’d clean yourself while he washed up in the bathroom, then crawl into bed without another word. Tonight, however, you wanted to talk._

_Both sprawled out on your backs, staring up at the dark ceiling, you broke the silence over his mellowing pants, and said, “We had a runaway chocobo at the festival today.”_

_“Nice.”_

_“What’s even more exciting is the fact that it was my second day at work. I chased it all over the streets in the utility vehicle. My heart was beating so wildly, I thought I was going to die. There were a couple of times that I almost wrecked, but it all worked out like I was in the scene of an action movie.” He nodded and made a few noises to indicate that he was listening. You continued, “It got really far away from me the last time—I was in an alleyway—and just as I neared the end, someone walked in front of me.”_

_You paused for dramatic effect, but he only responded with another, “Mmmhmm.”_

_“I was so scared, I didn’t know what to do,” you went on, eyes zoning in on a small part of the ceiling, highlighted from the translucent glow coming through the curtains. “Then, he hurled something at me. It nearly knocked the vehicle back, but he disappeared and reappeared right next to me.”_

_“Oh, so a Glaive.”_

_“Yeah. And guess who it was.”_

_He replied with a sigh and rolled over. “I know everyone in the Kingsglaive. It comes with the territory of being an up and coming Crownsguard recruit. Just tell me.”_

_You smiled, already having an inclination as to how he’d take the confession. “Nyx Ulric.”_

_He stiffened. You could feel the shifting of the sheets and mattress, even against the bit of distance between you._

_“Nyx helped me catch the chocobo,” you went on. “He even thanked me afterward.”_

_“Why would you bring that dickwad into our bedroom, especially after sex?” He turned back to you and propped himself up on an elbow. “Stay away from him, all right? He’s bad news.”_

_His words glossed over you, most likely because you knew that that was going to be his response._

_“It wasn’t like I could do anything about it. He appeared in the seat next to me.”_

_“You should’ve pushed him out the door. Look, it’s not up for debate. As long as you’re with me, you’re not to be talking with him. Or did you forget what I told you?”_

_You shrugged and drew the covers up to your chin. “Only that you heard some rumors.”_

_“No,” he snapped back. “That bastard’s responsible for a lot more than some rumors. Everything I told you was true. And, if you must really know, Nyx is the guy responsible for all of Tredd’s delayed promotions.” You hadn’t known that Tredd had been delayed of any promotions. Vico continued, “Tredd gets put on some rotten missions because of Nyx, always cast off to the shadows. And that girl I told you that Nyx stole? It was Tredd’s girlfriend.” He sighed again, as though having to repeat himself to a disobedient child. “_ _**Now** _ _do you get it? Stay away from him or we’re through.”_

_If there was one thing you knew about yourself, it was that you could be terrible at following directions—especially when the curiosity killed you._

_While on your way to visit Vico at work a few days later, you caught sight of the familiar Glaive and his little posse gathered around their usual table at Yamachang’s. You felt torn, eyes vacillating from your boyfriend’s work and the suspense of knowing what the real story behind Nyx Ulric was. The saying went that the best way of getting to know someone was through teamwork, and, well, you both had had the craziest opportunity for teamwork that you could think of._

_You hovered in the shadows, staring at the literal hole in the wall, the hum of several fans hanging above the counter buzzing in your ears. You hadn’t quite learned what the word “scummy” meant before laying eyes on this side of the street, as though Passiflora-Incarnara separated the beautiful from the wretched. Dust caked the screens of every fan, thick, gray strands moving at the disturbance of blowing wind. The brick walls surrounding the establishment, which was most_ _ **certainly**_ _not the right word for it, crumbled in patches, and one looked as though it were ready to fall from the wall with one good kick. Cords sagged in the air, attached from one wall to the next, and two light bulbs hung directly above Nyx’s table. Behind him sat the JDR apartment complex, and it looked just as gross and worn out as the surrounding area._

_You quietly made your way up to the counter, a bright Li’l Malbuddy curtain hanging from the top, to read the modest menu, all the while of letting your eyes pinball to the Glaives’ table. Nyx was in the middle of recounting some story that took place around the wall’s perimeter, and one of the men—the larger one, you thought—kept interrupting, accusing the former of embellishing. The others cracked up laughing, and you wondered what it would’ve been like to sit in between them—to be included._

_Many days were spent just like that: you coming with the intention of seeing Vico for lunch, making sure that you took your lunch break at the same time as his, spotting Nyx and his friends at Yamachang’s, which diverted you to the little hole in the wall, eating abra kabobs alone at a table around the corner, listening to their recounts of work, before finally heading into your boyfriend’s work. Almost always, you’d dawdle too long at Yamachang’s to have lunch with him, to his annoyance, and he’d send you back to work. This became routine for two weeks. Go to C District, go to lunch, miss his lunch entirely, and head back to work. At work, you’d see all of the Glaives, but always ducked and dodged glances whenever you spotted Nyx or any of his friends._

_The woman, whose name you learned was “Crowe,” was the first to call out to you, one evening at Yamachang’s._

_Apparently, she and the others had noticed your lingering for a long time both at work and at Yamachang’s. You flushed at the thought of how uncomfortable you probably had made them with your creepy hovering. She invited you to sit with them, hinting that she’d known you’d wanted to do it all along._

_“Are you curious about what Glaives are like?” she asked. “Is that why you’ve been hiding in plain sight?”_

_Color hit your cheeks at the thought of having been caught so easily. The man named Libertus pointed out your rosy face and chuckled, while Crowe introduced Pelna and Nyx. You felt your body warm as it occurred to you that, after having imagined it for so long, you were finally sitting in between them, and it felt just as nice as it had in your dreams._

_They listened as you spoke of your custodial work, intrigued to know the other side of life outside of being a Glaive. Crowe asked the most questions, although some felt generic, as though she were trying to keep the conversation alive by being able to include you. That was just your thought, anyhow, but the generic transitioned to genuine as you realized that they really_ _**did** _ _know what you were pushing around on your custodial cart._

_You wanted Nyx to listen most of all, as it seemed like you knew more about him than he you, but he spent most of the conversation on his phone, or locked in his own conversation with Yamachang up at the counter, away from all of you. Perhaps this was natural of him to do, because his friends never commented once. But it was nice to be the center of attention for a moment, with people who actually listened while you explained the process of cleaning, incidences you’d already encountered, and which areas you were responsible for in C District._

_After that, you stopped hiding when you’d see familiar Glaive faces at work, feeling comfortable enough to say hello to Libertus, or strike up a conversation with Crowe. You never told Vico what kept you away from lunch with him, and you were usually late whenever the Glaives were at Yamachang’s, which became a regular schedule at least two days a week. Twice, when they weren’t there, you were on time for lunch with Vico, and Tredd was there both times._

_You tuned out their conversation and badmouthing of different people at work, both in the Kingsglaive and Passiflora-Incarnara. Tredd was pissed because he’d been on gate duty that day after Nyx had buttered up to the captain and was sent on the reconnaissance patrol promised to Tredd._

_You waved at Nyx coming out of the bathrooms one day while you were at work. He returned the gesture with a small smile and slight nod before continuing down the hallway._

_Perhaps he hadn’t recognized you. You were never in uniform when at Yamachang’s and this was the first time you’d been daring enough to approach him while at work._

_Catching up to him, you said, “Hey, recognize me?”_

_Eyes directed forward as he walked, he said, “Of course I do.”_

_You weren’t positive about that, so you continued, “I know you remember me from Yamachang’s, but then there was also the Chocobo and Moogle Festival.”_

_“Oh, yeah,” he replied with a tone that made you wonder if sarcasm hadn’t been attached. “Danica Heartport, the custodian substituting for that day.” …Shit. You’d forgotten all about that. He finally looked at you, grinning. “Looks like you scored a full time gig after all.”_

_You stopped walking and he continued on, disappearing through the double doors at the end of the hall._

_Yes, you concluded, recalling the lie you’d told him. He thought you were a big dick indeed._

_***_

You were extremely nervous, shaking and keeping to yourself as you worked—hiding when the Big Big House Aristos came down the halls or emerged from their offices. You were cleaning in one of the highest parts of the Citadel today, Ancil’s run, as he’d called out sick. It was becoming routine to shuffle other custodians from area to area, thanks to the new Big Supervisor, who changed rules as often as he changed cars (and, as you found out, that was pretty damn often). How _you_ ended up in some of the highest levels of the Citadel, given your reputation, you were still trying to wrap your head around.

Someone up in the heavens just wanted you to mess up—you just couldn’t pinpoint which Astral hated you the most.

Working that high up meant extra backtracking for you, _just making sure_ you didn’t done fuck up anything important. No flooded offices, no broken pipes, no custodialy errors—things like that. Only at the tail end of your shift did you allow yourself to exhale a sigh at a job well done, mostly the area of zero explosions, tidal waves, and serious accidents.

You turned off the hallway light, which was required for floors forty and above. You learned a lot from Jaron that afternoon as he went over the procedures of higher level floors with you. Only offices and business rooms existed there, and were alarmed with the usual cameras from one side of the hallway to the other. Several corridors in particular required all personnel to vacate the premise by eleven at night to ensure that the custodians could set said alarms. Ancil’s run, which spanned floors fifty-two to fifty-eight had three major corridors that needed to be set by eleven, completing your shift for the night.

There were also more key cards than just the grandmaster, which you were aware of. Yes, you knew about extra codes. Yes, you knew about the special rooms, such as the ones containing the king’s room and the Crystal Chamber and that those required separate key cards. What you _hadn’t_ known was that higher floors _also_ required other colored key cards, not just the rooms themselves, and fewer people had access to those key cards. So much for “grandmaster.”

Apparently, the training room required a code _as well_ as a black key card for another area you hadn’t been aware of while cleaning the last time. Floors above forty could not be accessed with a grandmaster key card, and floors forty through forty-nine required a red key card. Jaron handed you a platinum key card for Ancil’s run, which granted you access to every floor from the fiftieth to the eightieth, although, not to every room. Some of those required purple key cards, which were reserved for very high House Aristos, such as the High Council members. The Crystal Chamber had a code and a key card specific to only the king and two others, and, even then, it was rumored that they were imbued with magic. The last two floors had their own special white key card, which could access almost every room and floor by itself, and there were less than ten of those in existence. Not even Jaron had one. A special cleaning crew, mainly consisting of personal maids and butlers reserved solely for the king and the highest Houses, took care of those floors. Why they didn’t just stick to the custodial team presently at hand, you had no idea.

The alarms in Ancil’s area were no different than those from the Community Center and C District, although these panels had two extra steps for measured security. You rolled your eyes as you set the first one, a corridor aimed toward a floor that also contained a set of stairs leading directly up to the floor of King Regis’ personal chambers, as well as Prince Noctis’ former chambers. The concept of security, with cameras and alarm panels, reminded you of your unfortunate bathroom incident, and how, had there been _someone_ actually watching the cameras, you would’ve been spared the hours upon hours humiliation of having been locked in by monstrous children. Although you doubted that the king risked the same kind of misfortune, it proved in your mind how nonsensical cameras and alarms could be if no one was watching behind the curtain to begin with.

The notion remained with you as you left to alarm the other two corridors, one that led to the High Council’s meeting room, and the other into an entirely different chamber of the Citadel—one that guarded the royal crystal. Even though Ancil had no access to purple or white key cards, he had a very important run, you realized, and gave him a great deal of kudos, especially with what he had to put up with during the Fantasy Faire.

Yawning, you made your way back to the custodial closet to finish dumping water from the mop bucket, and swept out all of the hair and dust stuck to the dust mop with a small broom. The last thing you wanted was for Ancil to return to a messy closet. You’d get a scolding for sure. Being only two days after your last performance at the Bazaar, Libertus, Crowe, Pelna, and a few other Glaives were returning for the next round of open mic night. That often translated to “get trashed” in Libertus speech. You were still humming and hawing about going, being both mentally and physically exhausted from doing a run you weren’t used to and comfortable with.

After triple checking everything in the closet to make sure that it was cleaner than you found it, you grabbed your thin jacket and shut the door behind you. Your mind was taunting you, you knew, passing images of bathroom stalls, office windows, doors, and alarms—all were questioning whether or not you’d completed your work. Had you left enough toilet paper in the High Council’s bathroom dispensers to get them through the next day? Did you close Councilman Chief Hawthorne’s little lobby window in his office? And did you _really_ set that first alarm in the east corridor?

You promised yourself that you wouldn’t resort to triple checking those, too. You’d get off at midnight at that point, and Libertus had already texted you twice, asking if you were coming. Most everything was misspelled, with a random quotation mark inserted in the middle of the word “drink.” It was nice to know that the lot of them were getting started. You had thought about texting Nyx to see if he wanted to play some video games instead, since he couldn’t go to the Bazaar. You still hadn’t replied to his congratulations text, and hadn’t communicated with him since. The weather was supposed to be poor, and you hadn’t seen much of Nyx since he’d come back into the city.

It took you ten minutes to construct a text to him, all while checking Councilman Chief Hawthorne’s little lobby window and the toilet paper in the High Council’s bathroom. Libertus interrupted your typing with a new text, complaining with many typos of Nyx’s distance from the group as of late. Apparently, his new lady friend was a Glaive, and he’d spent the duration of that last month’s “perimeter protection” getting to know her better, flirting with her, and the declaration of their first date once they returned to the city. Apparently, a date was also where he was at present, rendering your in-progress text to him a waste. So much for the proposition of video games.

You discarded the unsent text with a groan and asked Libertus how the weather was at the Bazaar. Whether you joined them depended on his answer. The newscaster called for nighttime rain, although, you hadn’t been outside to make that determination yourself. You thought you heard wind, but that was all. After sending the text, you turned the lit screen toward the darkened hallway toward the alarm panel for the corridor leading toward the king’s stairs, or floor, or whatever the official term was for it. All that you knew was that this particular panel was unique, and that the above floor and staircase could not be accessed without first coming this way and deactivating the panel.

Unless you were the king and just used the magical key card or whatever in the elevator to bypass the alarm to get up to the floor to his personal chamber.

You didn’t mind walking in the dark, and there was still plenty of light coming from your phone and the emergency lights above to be able to see. You were also feeling too lazy to switch on the hallway lights.

You prepared your fingers to deactivate the alarm before quickly alarming it again; your presence would’ve triggered it before even arriving at the panel, but you realized that you’d reached the device without it ever reacting. Damn. Perhaps you’d neglected setting it at all, and thanked the Astrals that you’d decided to check again.

Fingers hovering over the panel, you noticed a jumble of black text bouncing on the reader screen indicating the alarm’s status. Holding the phone up to the panel, your eyes caught sight of a metal ball with several prongs smashed into the side of the panel and across most of the keypad. The word “override” appeared in your mind, although you weren’t sure if that was what the little spider-looking device actually did.

Then, you recalled which corridor you stood in front of.

Racing down the hallway, you threw open the heavy, metal door at the very end. The stairwell was just as dark as the hallway, and you raised the phone to illuminate the steps before you. They did little in the way of brightening the larger area, and you thought to turn on the phone’s flashlight, but didn’t for fear of losing whomever lay ahead.

The heavy weight of a shifting body stopped you with a leg ready to descend onto the first step, and your eyes lifted upward. You could see the vague outline of a body, in dark clothes, the tip of their black or dark gray shoe aimed in your direction from the top of the stairs.

Then they fled through the door at the top.

“Hey!” you shouted and pursued.

The figure let the door slam shut behind them, and you barreled through using your shoulder. Your phone tumbled from your hand, landing in a dull clank on the ground. You gave it only a moment’s glance before returning to the darkened hallway before you. Sounds of the figure’s footsteps echoed in hasty steps across the tile floor, and you picked up speed. You’d never been down this hall—didn’t know where the light switch was—and relied on instinct to carry you through to the end.

The small glow of light emerged as the figure opened a door at the far end and slipped through, closing it behind them. The light spurred you on, hands reaching for the knob. You slammed into the door, cursed, and fumbled for the knob. Twisting it, you threw yourself through into another hallway. The lights above momentarily blinded you, but your brain commanded to keep running, despite the burn in your chest from depleted oxygen. The thought of the culprit fleeing propelled you forward, although they were nowhere in sight.

You quickly realized that the hallway split into a branching path to the right, and you sprinted again, hugging the wall of the corner as you pressed on. Another hallway appeared, looming left and right, and you skid directly into the wall before you. Hands coming up to cushion the fall, your eyes shot in each direction until the moving black blur directed your gaze to the right. Retreating down the hall was a tall, lithe figure, dressed in all black.

They were only a moment from another door at the end of the corridor, their hand stretched for the handle. You made to move after them, eyes focused on their appearance—black shoes, pants, jacket—nothing obvious until they turned their profile toward you for just a fleeting second. Even in the dim light, you caught the short, brown hair and darkened parts of the man’s face reflecting facial hair. Your eyes widened in recognition as he disappeared through the door, pulling it shut behind him.

“Marshal!” you bellowed and gained speed. When you reached the door, you turned the knob, but the door would not open. You pounded your fists, pulled again, and continued shouting. “Marshal, open the door!”

When it became obvious that your pursuit had come to its end, you bounded away, head spinning at what you’d just witnessed. The mental comedown took longer than the physical, and you made a beeline back to the darkened corridor. There had been an override—or something—mechanism on the alarm panel, and no one could’ve come from the corridor on the other side. Unless you were crazy, then you had just caught the marshal in something major. Why hadn’t he stopped when you called to him? Why had he fled? Worse a question than any, had he been the one to place the mechanism?

You felt sick as you knew the answer to that question. No one else could’ve. Absolutely no one. The floors had been empty and you’d set the alarms a while ago. If anyone had been hiding out, the alarms would’ve sounded. They were extremely sensitive. No. You didn’t want to admit it. Cor set the mechanism. There was no denying that.

Your hand brushed the wall in the darkened hallway, aimlessly in search of the light switch. You suspected its location, and breathed relief when your hand passed over the switch and light fed throughout the area. All remained quiet in the vicinity, not at all like the chase you’d just given, and you walked the length of the hall until you found your poor phone, burst apart in three pieces. 

As you knelt to slide the battery and back cover into place, it dawned on you the malicious nature of the marshal’s presence, the possibilities posed, and what you needed to do next. Eyes flickering to the door before you, you knew that this corridor was supposed to lead to the king’s personal chambers by the way of staircase or elevator, somehow. Even if it felt like you were trespassing on His Majesty’s privacy, you had to warn him, before Cor Leonis got to him first.

\/\/\/

“Your Majesty!” You tore down the hall, relieved that you’d caught him at the perfect moment, he with his Shield. “Your Majesty, wait!”

He turned, brows furrowed as he sought you. A brief part of your mind recognized the man from the tabloids and billboards, albeit, more worn down and graying now that you stood before King Regis himself. He leaned on a cane, despite his formal appearance, and you noted the frown from under his beard before someone stepped between you.

The king’s Shield was as tall as Gladio, and forced you to halt abruptly, nearly colliding into the man. His hand was already reaching for the hilt at his side, the folds of his robes moving in time with the rest of his body. He stared down at you from over the bridge of his nose, his frown set deeper than Regis’.

You took a step back before the Shield had the chance to unsheathe his blade, and refrained from doubling over, no matter how deep you gulped down the air around you. Encircling one arm around your stomach, you kept eye contact with the Shield, who remained like a statue to you.

“S-Sorry,” you blabbered. “It’s an emergency.” Swallowing more air into your lungs, you added, “One of the guards told me you were just finishing a meeting. I know it’s late—”

“It’s all right, Clarus,” Regis said from behind the Shield, causing your mouth to clamp shut.

While the Shield looked nothing like his son, or, rather, the other way around, you swore that the glare from the eyes that beheld you now mirrored Gladio’s perfectly. You wondered how old the father was, what with his deep, facial lines and absent hair, the ghosts of small, white wisps of what was left reflecting under the hallway’s fluorescent lights. Clarus dropped his hand and sidestepped back to his original position, revealing the king, void of frown.

Regis looked you up and down, regarding you with something that made you uncomfortable to think about. You’d never met the king before and here you were, barging down the hall to demand an informal audience. 

After a moment, the king’s lips twisted and he said, “One of my custodians?”

Nodding, you said, “Forgive me, but I had to speak to you directly.”

“How were you able to get this far unescorted?” Clarus cut in. “Even if a guard knew our whereabouts, surely they wouldn’t let you pass without an escort.”

Gladio’s father was as obstinate as you knew Gladio to be. Time was of the essence, and you understood their concern, but something big was happening, and you had little time to discuss your uncouth arrival.

“I have a platinum key card,” you replied, swinging it from the lanyard around your neck, realizing that Clarus and Regis probably hadn’t recognized you as the few, handpicked custodians who normally took care of the higher floors. For that, you could understand their wary demeanor. You were also lucky that the king was having his meeting on the eightieth floor, where your key card still worked. Any higher, and a guard _would_ have had to escort you. “I’m substituting in for Ancil Pacheco, who’s out sick today. I only asked if the king was still awake and the guard told me that he was in a late meeting. That’s all.” In truth, you were fortunate that the guard had also told you which meeting room the king was in. You hadn’t realized that there were several. Either the guard was new or felt comfortable telling you, based on your uniform. Your eyes flickered back to Regis. “Your Majesty, there isn’t much time. I’ve got grave news that concerns you.” You studied his face, the way his jaw tightened, and how the lines against his own eyes came to life as he considered you. When he nodded, you said, “As I was finishing my area for the night, I saw a strange device attached to the alarm panel leading up to your personal corridors. When I went to investigate, I came into contact with a man who fled from me. Naturally I pursued.”

“Without calling for some kind of aid?” Clarus interrupted, although his tone felt less aggressive. 

“There was no time,” you said. “Even now, we may be in some sort of danger.” Refocusing your gaze on Regis, you took a deep breath before continuing. “I lost the perpetrator, but managed to see his face before he fled.”  
“Who was it?” Regis asked, but it almost sounded like a demand.

This was it. No turning back.

But you were saving the lives of the Citadel, you told yourself. Even as you confessed, “The marshal, Your Majesty. Cor Leonis,” you truly believed that.

\/\/\/

You sat uncomfortably at the end of the table in the conference room—the High Council’s conference room that required a purple key card. For being the bearer of bad news, you were beginning to see the truth in “killing the messenger,” and wondered why you felt like it was _you_ being put on trial.

After you’d dropped the marshal’s name, Regis immediately summoned several of his guards, two of which escorted you to said conference room. There, you waited with them at your back, fidgeting in your seat as you studied the room around you. Sizable portraits with gilded frames lined all four walls of the room, each a pictorial documentation of history from king to king, the way the Citadel had looked before until now. Behind the head of the table, where you assumed the king would be sitting, was a beautifully constructed glass window which stretched the length of the entire wall. You could only imagine how it looked in the daytime, overseeing the entire city of Insomnia, other skyscrapers, the little moving dots representing cars and people—things like that. For now, as late as it was, you were welcomed with darkness, the lights of the city muted against the hanging fog as the rain fell. You couldn’t even see or hear the falling rain; you only knew that it was because of the scattered drops trailing the panes from the wind.

It seemed like forever before the king, Clarus, and several others entered the room, and Regis dismissed the guards, asking that they wait outside. Your eyes surveyed those who’d come in alongside the king and your heart nearly died in your chest. Captain Drautos and Cor Leonis were among the six that seated themselves at the long table, closest to the king, leaving many empty chairs in between themselves and you. Two other council members—you were pretty sure that one was Charlisa Avila, whose office you’d cleaned on Lajos’ route—joined them, and Clarus sat on the king’s right, eyes averted from you.

When Ignis Scientia hurried into the room, you lost your composure. What the hell was he doing here?

He met your gaze and the color drained from his face. His eyes burned into you as he fumbled for the back of a chair on the other side of Cor, still a good seven seats away from you, and you turned away, swearing to never look at him again. Cor, on the other hand, glared at you as the king introduced the second High Council member next to Charlisa, a Mrs. Orabelle DuPont. You clenched your teeth and returned the glare, refusing to back down. Marshal or not, _Immortal_ or not, he was a mole, and you were going to get to the bottom of it.

But, after the third time of being asked to recount the night’s events, your faith became shaky.

“And, you’re _certain_ that the one you saw fleeing was the Royal Marshal of the Crownsguard, Cor Leonis?” Regis asked, eyes boring into yours.

“I’m positive,” you said, leaning forward in the chair until your chest met the lip of the table. You gestured to Cor with one hand. “I saw him wearing the same Crownsguard apparel that he is right now—black shoes, pants, and jacket. And I saw his face.”

“Only _part_ of his face, however?” Drautos asked.

You nodded, and said, “It was still enough to see him. I know that the lighting wasn’t the best, but I know it was him.”

Cor’s eyes focused on a little spot on the table, his jaw taut and lips rolling between his teeth, as though he were resisting a snarl.

“We found the strange mechanism in question,” Clarus said, though his eyes were on the king. “It’s being inspected as we speak.”

“There are security cameras on all of those floors,” you countered, despite whether or not he’d been talking to you. “He had to pass under every single one, so you shouldn’t have any problem recognizing him.” Your eyes shifted to Cor at that remark. His face darkened into an impressive shade of red, but he kept quiet nonetheless, eyes still zoned in on the table.

“Surveillance is combing through the footage,” Ignis said, his voice a bit strange, and he kept his eyes cast forward, as though staring at one of the councilwomen. “I just texted them with the floors mentioned, based on your testimony. I’ve asked them to report back if they discover anything.”

Regis looked at him. “This is highly sensitive material, Adviser Scientia.”

Almost immediately, Ignis replied, “I remained very ambiguous in my request, Your Majesty. There is no concern for alarm.”

The king nodded. “Very well.” Then, his eyes fell on you once more. “Young lady, you _do_ understand what is transpiring here, do you not? You’ve accused one of my highest ranking able men of the most treacherous of crimes. It is punishable by death, should he be found guilty.”

“And rightfully so,” you fired back, trying to sound as professional and reasonable as possible. From out of the corner of your eye, Cor flinched, as though he were going to lunge from his chair toward you. “Your Majesty, for what reason other than foul intent would he have to place an override mechanism on an alarm panel that I’d set just before concluding my shift?”

Cor slammed a fist down on the table, causing the entire thing to shake. “Your Majesty, with all due respect, what _purpose_ would I have setting such a device when it’s known to almost all of us in this room that I have a key card that grants me access to nearly every room in the Citadel?”

Your mouth snapped shut. Cor had a white key card. _That_ you hadn’t been aware of.

You had to rethink your reasoning, even though you were positive that it was Cor you’d seen running down the corridors. If he had a white key card, what would’ve been the reason for overriding the alarm? Now that you thought about it, even if he’d wanted to access the king’s chambers, he’d still need the white card, which he already had.

Nothing made sense now.

“The problem still stands,” Clarus said after a moment, not addressing Cor’s question, whether it had been rhetorical or not, “that we are left with the strange mechanism. The design isn’t Lucian, that much we’ve established.”

You accidentally met Ignis’ eyes, his gaze placed firmly upon you. You sensed weariness from him, which didn’t come as a surprise. It was well after midnight at this point, and even you were beginning to fade. So much for going to the Bazaar after all. Now that you thought about it, you never knew if Libertus had texted back or not. You hadn’t even bothered to turn your phone back on after it’d fallen during the chase.

Shrinking into yourself under the adviser’s stare, you averted your eyes, wondering what he thought of you now. How humiliating. Every time you’d make some kind of progress with him, something bad happened—some kind of dreadful problem occurred. Although, _this time,_ you were in the right. So, why did all of this feel so very wrong?

King Regis cast his eyes upon you, elbows propped onto the table as he steepled his fingers together. Even from where you sat, with much distance between you, you could see the glint from the ring on his finger. You’d heard of the Ring of the Lucii. Like King Regis, it amazed you to be in the same vicinity as something so powerful, when you’d only ever seen pictures.

“Young lady,” the king began, and then paused. You really weren’t liking the tone of his voice. “I’ve made my decision based on what you’ve told us here tonight. Thank you for your help. I’d like to confer with my council, now, if you don’t mind.”

You blanched, eyes wide as you tried to make sense of it all. He hadn’t said it outright, but you didn’t have to try hard to read between those lines. Cor hadn’t been put in the hot seat like you, hadn’t been asked to explain his movements or if someone could vouch for him. If you didn’t know any better, King Regis thought you were a liar. Gods, you hoped you were wrong.

“Your Majesty,” you contested, against your better judgment. “I’m certain of what I saw—”

He lifted a hand to silence you. The rest of your argument tumbled into invisible waves of air from your lips.

“I know you’re certain, and, again, I thank you. Now, please, if you’ll step out of the room while my council and I confer.”

You made no immediate attempt to rise. Perhaps you’d thought that they’d include you in Cor’s sentencing, since you’d been the one to turn him in. But, the king and this council knew you as well as one of the rocks sitting out in the Royal Gardens—and probably the rock better. You’d done all that you could do, and resisted an urge to look at Cor and scream every dirty thing you could think of at him. A fog passed over your mind as you became overwhelmed by all of the circumstances, everything feeling inconclusive.

You didn’t care that the chair screeched against the king’s nice, shiny tile floor when you rose. Without another word, you marched to the back of the room, shoes clomping in great echoes around you, and shoved the mighty double doors open to pass through.

_******* _

__ _You lying to Nyx wasn’t the only reason he kept his distance from you the first four months of getting to know him and the others. It didn’t take much or long for him to find out that you were Vico’s girl, which he acknowledged openly, and, while tolerated your presence, he wasn’t as outgoing about getting to know you as Libertus and Crowe were._

_He sarcastically referred to you as “Danica Heartport” during the initial few hangouts at Yamachang’s, and then shortened it to “Danny” as time went on. You once asked Vico what the bad blood between him and Nyx was, but he laughed it off, repeating the same story over and over—he’d screwed Tredd, both out of a better position in the Kingsglaive and his girlfriend. And Vico was going to stand by his best friend no matter what._

_Then your boyfriend turned to you. “Why do you keep asking about that guy anyway?”_

_The answer had been so flimsy, you couldn’t remember how you responded._

_Nyx’s rejection to your offer of friendship motivated you to keep trying. You would get to the bottom of everything and you were determined. Well,_ _**determined** _ _for Vico not to find out what you’d been planning. You knew he suspected something was amiss, and his own cold shoulder bit you harder than Nyx’s. The last thing you wanted to do was lose your beloved, but the Kingsglaive fascinated you as you worked behind the curtains, watching them train out in their outside quarters, eat in the mess hall, and pass while you cleaned their briefing room. Nyx was the posterchild for all things Glaive related, and it pricked you something fierce that he thought you were a liar._

_The November frost ambushed you from behind, like an angry hug, and you weren’t prepared for your first real change of season in a place so far away from Pryham. Even there, you’d never gone through the same climate change that Insomnia faced, and you spent one of your first paychecks on warmer clothes, including a thick jacket. You wore it to Yamachang’s on your day off, meeting with Crowe, Libertus, and Nyx for the usual cheap dinner and drinks. Well, non-alcoholic for you._

_Nyx was already three beers in by the time you arrived. He and Libertus were in some kind of drink-off, and Crowe explained that it’d been a bad day for both of them._

_“The captain gave them an earful when they botched their reconnaissance mission,” she said, eyes on the two drunken Glaives. You almost couldn’t hear her over their rambunctious conversation, and Nyx kicked Libertus from under the table, prompting a yell from the latter. “They’re out of control,” she concluded with a sigh._

_Your imagination set to work what a reconnaissance mission entailed, and the kind of fighting that they did. Was it against daemons? Other hostile animals? Thugs? You always wanted to know, but never asked. You just watched Nyx shove Libertus in the shoulder, and then demand an arm wrestling competition, to which the latter belched and obliged. It caused you to chuckle, wondering how two friends could get so salty with one another, and then walk home laughing at the end of the night. You’d never kept enough friends to know. You hoped the Glaives would let you tag along long enough to discover it._

_Crowe stopped after two beers before switching to water, and ordered a Galahdian iced tea for you, since you were underage. You nursed it with thanks, and sheepishly kept your mouth wrapped around the straw’s opening._

_“Yamachang makes the best rendition of it, I think,” she said. “He’s from Western Galahd, and inherited the family business from his father and grandfather—So he says, anyway.”_

_You smiled, lips around the straw, and stared inside the cup. You’d had iced tea before, but this was very tangy, with a bit of lemon zest, and some spice. It warmed the palate on your tongue before spreading to the rest of your mouth, and tingled all the way down._

_“There are some fruits that only grow in Galahd,” she added, eyes on your face. “One’s known as the_ _Bammoguaro, a tree fruit that can get as big as three human heads put together.” She used her hands as emphasis, a smile dancing across her lips. “As many as a hundred can grow on one tree, so we were always worried about the whole thing coming down on us. Even though it’s a really tall tree, none of us can climb it directly to get to the fruit. So, imagine our worry whenever we’d have to stand under one to collect some, especially on a windy day. A Bammoguaro almost landed on my father before splattering all over the ground.” Then her eyes fell. “I’m sure that the Bammoguaro trees are almost all extinct by now, what with the Empire having control. They set fire to everything.”_

_Your eyes returned to the inside of your cup, watching the white suds foam together like little islands amidst square ice cubes and the amber colored sea. There was nothing exotic in Pryham, no stories you could offer in turn, and no commiseration you could provide._

_After all, who’d want to burn down a boring little backwater town like Pryham?_

_Crowe called it a night after Libertus face planted on the table, knocking over hers and Nyx’s drinks, and scattering all of the nuts and chips across the table. She looped an arm around Libertus’ larger frame and announced that she’d walk him home. Nyx threw his head back and laughed until tears pooled at the corners of his eyes, and you knew that the phrase “drunk off his ass” was too soft for the Glaive. If Libertus was three sheets to the wind, then Nyx’s ship had absolutely sunk._

_Crowe nodded heavenward while attempting to pull the larger Glaive from his seat. “I’m sorry to ask, but do you mind walking that dolt up to his apartment?” You followed her gaze to the complex directly across the street from Yamachang’s. “Nyx lives there, at the JDR. Seventh story, third door on the left. Look, up there.” You did, but had no idea where she was directing. “You can see his place from here.”_

_“She don’t need to know where I live,” Nyx cut in, dragging the words from his lips as he swatted a flimsy hand at Crowe. “I can get there myself.”_

_Crowe frowned at him and, if she hadn’t already had her hands full with Libertus, would’ve probably punched him. “Then you shouldn’t have gotten so pissed-faced drunk, you moron.”_

_He tried to roll his eyes at her, but lolled his head back instead, nearly toppling from the chair. Instinctively, you jumped up to catch him. He shrugged you off and used the table to steady himself._

_Despite the dismissal that left you slightly hurt, you told her, “Yeah, sure. I’ll make sure he gets home okay.”_

_She smiled, lifting a wobbling Libertus to his feet. He was much better about letting her help him, and, although he swayed, could walk well enough to keep her from having to shoulder his entire mass. You didn’t even want to know how much that was._

_“Thanks,” she said. “Please text me when you get him inside.” Nyx groaned and her eyes shot back to him. “I mean it, you jerk, if you make it hard on her, I’ll sock you dead off in the face. You got that?”_

_He steadied himself against the table, hunched over as though he were ready to puke his guts up. Instead, he said, “I already told you, I can make it home by myself.”_

_Another voice from far off caught your attention as Yamachang himself slapped a spatula against the counter and shouted, “Hey, dumbass, cut the tough guy crap and let her walk you home. You’re making my business look bad.”_

_“There ain’t anyone even here,” Nyx called back before his cheeks puffed up with air. Even from where you stood, you could imagine the projectile vomit if you were too close._

_Crowe offered you one more rueful gaze before offering her thanks, and she turned to carefully lead Libertus up the stairs toward the street. You, on the other hand, waited for Nyx to push himself off the table, swaying on his feet like a banner about ready to topple over in a windstorm. You reached out to steady him, but he did a decent job at deflecting your touch._

_Getting him to the stairs was a different story. He absolutely refused your help, pulling himself along by the metal railing that surrounded Yamachang’s. You glanced once at Yamachang, whose lips curled at one end and he shook his head at you, something you translated into a form of an apology. It took Nyx a good three minutes to eventually get himself to the steps, and tripped over the first one._

_“I_ _**can** _ _help you,” you told him, eyes flickering from him to your boyfriend’s work right across the way. Luckily, Vico wasn’t working this evening. You could picture his reaction now, you with his drunken arch nemesis, attempting to wrap an arm around Nyx’s waist as he swatted your hand away._

_“I’m fine,” he said, and, for a moment, you thought that he was by the tone of his voice. It sounded very familiar—not at all tinged with the drunken slur you’d heard him with moments ago. “You can go home. I can make it.”_

_Pinching your lips between your teeth, you shook your head. “I promised I would text Crowe when you got in. Don’t make a liar of me, all right? I’ll even refrain from helping you again.”_

_He straightened himself. “Whatever.”_

_The crowds out and about were just as abundant as ever, and you realized why Insomnia was known as the city that never slept. Although still relatively new to the city, you’d begun to understand the ins and outs of the people, and how they thought and operated. You still hadn’t been as prepared for the weather as you’d wanted, however._

_Nyx’s steps zigzagged through the market strip, and he bumped shoulders with one man without apologizing. The victim looked over at Nyx, who kept clomping away, so you apologized on his behalf. The Glaive, either oblivious or indifferent, trudged on, hand stretched out to take whatever was in reach—crates, walls, stall props—in order to keep upright. He seemed to be doing well for a minute until he almost knocked over a kebob stand, and that was when you decided to intervene._

_Seizing him around the waist, which felt like hugging a lean tree trunk, he fell as deadweight against you, and you looped his arm around your shoulder. Apologizing profusely to the cook wasn’t enough to stop her from screaming after you, and you led Nyx down the strip without any real aim. As it was, you weren’t exactly sure how to get to the JDR. It was across the tracks and that was all you knew. It would’ve just been easier to propel Nyx up to his window from Yamachang’s with a warp-strike or something. But he was far too drunk for that._

_“I can make it myself,” he said again, groggy and low. He made no attempt to disengage himself, although, you were impressed with how automatic his movements came. You felt as though you could lead him just about anywhere and he’d follow. “You said you wouldn’t help.”_

_You stopped long enough to survey your surroundings. You were pretty sure that the next left would take you down the steps across the tracks. From there, you could reach the JDR. Before he had enough ambition to shove you off, you started walking again._

_“Yeah, well, that was before you almost knocked over that poor lady’s stall,” you said, relieved that he was allowing you to guide him. “She’s a really big lady. I thought she was going to smash you like a pancake.”_

_He scoffed, the breath pushed from his lips coming as wind against your cheek. Wind reeking of alcohol, anyway. You slowed your pace when he resisted against you. You glanced sideways to see what the holdup was, then realized that he was in danger of passing out. You needed to keep him awake._

_“I’m surprised Crowe could walk Libertus home in his condition,” you said, not sure if he could actually comprehend what you were saying. “You weigh a ton.”_

_“Shut up,” he slurred out, as though he were fading in and out of sleep._

_You did, for only a moment. Eyes focused on the railing a good twenty feet ahead of you, you said, “Why do you hate me, anyway?”_

_He belched, causing you to turn your head away as the ripe smell of alcohol wafted up under your nose. The thought of him puking on you made you walk faster, although he crushed your shoulder as you realized that his consciousness was slipping away. If this kept up, he’d fall flat and pass out on top of you._

_“Vico,” he said after a moment, and you heard the gurgle in the back of his throat. “He’s bad news. Dunno what you see in ‘im.”_

_There were plenty of ways you wanted to respond. First of all, it had nothing to do with Vico and more about Nyx stealing Tredd’s girlfriend, but you weren’t going to attempt getting into an argument with a drunk man._

_“Dunno why you keep comin’ ‘round, either,” he slurred on. “Got nothin’ for ya. We helped each other once. Woo.”_

_You reached the stairs. It was a long descent, and you didn’t even want to count the steps. Getting Nyx down them without the two of you taking a nasty tumble was the challenge, and you weren’t looking forward to doing that_ _**and** _ _have this conversation._

_But you were going to do it anyway, Astrals be damned._

_Taking your first step on the grated stair while steadying him was the hard part. Somewhere between adjusting yourself and stepping down, he took you by the waist, and allowed you to position him against the stair rail. Luckily, this area remained dark and vacant, save the few transients passed out down at the bottom._

_“Maybe I just wanted to be friends with you,” you said once you felt as though you were getting a strong rhythm going: take one step down, slide his back against the railing while you held on, and pulled him until he joined you on the next step. Simple as pie._

_Pie actually sounded good, right about now._

_“That’s dumb,” he said. “Can’t be friends cuz we helped each other once.”_

_“Why not? That’s a perfectly good reason to be friends.” Once you took the next step, you added, “I’m sorry I lied to you that day. About my name, that is.”_

_“Whatever, Danny.”_

_You shot a glance up to his face. He stared at the ground, eyes glossed over and mouth slightly ajar. A faint, white ring had appeared around his lips. He needed water, something you recognized from watching Vico drink so often._

_You refocused yourself on the task at hand. Gripping his arm as you guided him down the remainder of the steps, you said, “Well, I_ _**do** _ _want to be your friend, even if you don’t want to be mine.”_

_He didn’t fuss when you reached the JDR, and helped him into the old, creaky elevator on the other side of the manager’s office. The cabin ground against the wheels, and you wondered if the cable would hold the weight of you both, despite the fact that you knew your combined weight amounted to very little. He allowed you to remain attached to him, although you were certain that it was because he was about a moment away from passing out completely. He fell back against the elevator wall, nose pointed toward the ceiling._

_You asked for the key to his apartment, and nervously set yourself to search for it when he didn’t reply. Stuffing your hand into his front pants pocket, you wiggled your fingers over the contents inside, feeling around for something that resembled most like a key. He said nothing as you blatantly violated him, heat consuming your face as you mentally chastised yourself. You hadn’t been this close to a man other than Vico and, despite your best intentions, you felt like you were cheating on him, with a sworn enemy, no less._

_Victory claimed you once you pulled the ring from out of his pocket, the keys clanking together in a high pitched jingle as they swung in front of your face. A light snore turned your attention up to Nyx, who’d fallen asleep during the violation, and you shook him at the waist._

_“We’re almost there,” you said, startling him awake. “Then you can sleep it off in bed.”_

_He mumbled something you didn’t understand, falling against you once more. You took the heavy weight the best that you could, and welcomed the opening doors to the seventh floor. The chill entered into the elevator, all apartment doors having exterior entrances, much to your dismay. You remembered Crowe telling you that his was the third on the left. You walked the length of the outdoor walkway, counting the doors along the way. His was the only apartment on this side with a pukey green colored astro turf mat._

_Sticking the key into the door proved to be more of a challenge than you hoped, considering that Nyx was nearly dead to the world, and two-hundred pounds of muscle—or_ _**whatever** _ _he weighed—pressed down against you made doing anything very difficult. Your body strained underneath him and his arms hung limp around you. You held your breath and zoned in on the key hole, jiggling the handle until the door swung open._

_You caught the immediate smell of incense, although you couldn’t pin a type, as you weren’t one to burn it. It stung the insides of your nose with a deep, musky smell, like wet wood. You sort of liked it._

_Having zero chance of finding the light switch before losing Nyx, you scanned the darkness as best you could. The outside lights streamed through the open door like a small flashlight, and you were pretty sure that the bed was on the other side of the room, to your left. You coaxed him across the room, kicking something like a chair along the way, but stifled the grunt until after you dropped him onto the bed. He timbered like a falling tree, and you heard the springs bounce under his heavy weight. Once there, he didn’t move again._

_You staggered, the release of the weight returning the life to your body once more. Standing erect, you stretched with your hands on your back, and closed your eyes. That had been more than you’d bargained for, and you needed a moment to compose yourself. It didn’t feel right leaving him, and you figured that you’d hang out for a few minutes to catch your breath, wipe the sweat from your face, and make sure he was still alive._

_Your hand passed over the light switch on the wall, directly to the right of the front door. Your eyes swept over the room, from left to right, small and quiet, save his snoring, crumpled form on the bed in the corner from where you’d dropped him off your shoulder. Perhaps it was an invasion of privacy, but you couldn’t help yourself. Then you remembered that he needed water._

_Nyx lived in a tiny, one bedroom apartment, and his kitchen was the size of your walk-in closet, including the sink and oven. He had four cabinets and three drawers, and you found his modest supply of plates and cups on the first try. You filled a glass with water from the tap, and crossed the room to the bed._

_Poking him, you said, “Nyx, you need to drink some water.”_

_He grunted and rolled over, his back to you while the lower half of his body hung off the bed. No matter how hard you tried to get him to comply, he remained like a big lump of drunken uselessness. Sighing, you placed the cup on the small end table next to his bed, which had two drawers underneath it. He’d wake up later sick and dehydrated, and he’d want the water then._

_Returning to your feet, you stared down at him, feeling like a displeased mother. It wasn’t like he knew it, and would probably never know. So you pulled the boots from his feet, set them next to his bed, and pushed him fully onto the mattress with all of your strength. Then, you placed a pillow under his head and turned him on his side, the best that you could—unconscious or not, he was pretty resistant to that. You found a spare blanket in the small closet next to his kitchen, since he was laying on his comforter, and couldn’t get him to budge from off of it, and tucked him in._

_He didn’t flinch, or stir, or give any indication that he knew you were there. It made you feel awkward, and you knew that your welcome had run its course. Despite that, you went back to nosing around, turning in a small circle as you busied yourself with figuring out everything that made up Nyx Ulric, trying to dispel the inner debate of leaving him alone, and if he’d be all right. Vico hadn’t bothered to text to find out where you were, and that was probably a good thing._

_Only the sound of the clock ticking on the wall and Nyx’s heavy breathing made up the ambiance around you. You still couldn’t believe that a Glaive, one of the king’s magical soldiers, was permitted to live in something so small. Even yours and Vico’s apartment was bigger than Nyx’s closet. The shoddy walls cracked with need of a new paint job, and cobwebs lined almost every corner and vent you could see._

_He didn’t appear to be overly concerned with homeliness; just enough furniture to look like a home, but you suspected that he didn’t spend much time here. Everything looked secondhand, from the stand-up lamp in front of the bathroom door, to the two saggy recliners in the middle of the room. You laughed at the stand containing hand chalk right outside the bathroom, a set of weights tucked next to it._

_You entered the bathroom to observe yourself, and flipped the switch to reveal space enough for the sink, toilet, and stand up shower. The fan turned on automatically, but sounded like something was caught in it from the terrible hacking noise coming from inside the piping. You didn’t waste time in running cool water over your face, despite the nippy temperature outside, and dried yourself with one of the hand towels hanging from a metal rack, rusted at both ends._

_Nyx kept zero pictures on the wall, save the poster directly above his bed of a giant canyon set against early sunset, making the ridges and dimples in the stone appear purple. “Galahd Canyon” the poster read in the bottom corner, and you wondered if he’d traveled there. A clothesline ran across his bed, nailed from one wall to the other, and hung with socks, a pair of pants, and boxers that you averted your eyes from._

_Instead, you found yourself staring at a little shelf on the opposite wall, above the bed, lined with books. You glanced at some of the titles and smiled. Apparently, he was an avid reader, and took an interest in history, particularly Galahdian, topography, and crime novels. He also had a book on cosmogony, and wine. Why wine, you had no idea._

_Two more shelves were on the wall closet to the front door, opposite a coat rack. More crime novels, two Gothic you’d read in high school, and one on Lucian language and culture. A cup full of pens and pencils, and two small picture frames of Galahd Canyon taken at different angles. You wondered if he’d snapped those ones. The tubing of a large vent ran across the ceiling, from the kitchen to the front door. You considered it an eyesore, but doubt that Nyx thought much on it._

_A glass table, an empty five gallon bucket, boxes with paperwork, and a small, flat screen television occupied the space closest to the window overlooking Yamachang’s restaurant—the same one Crowe had directed your attention to before. You pulled the string to let the bent blinds fall before closing the sun damaged curtains._

_You watered the dying plant in the windowsill there, behind a bulletin board with newspaper clippings and photographs. The source of the incense lay there, atop a small cherub statue, fresh, white ashes gathered in the tray. Seating yourself in the chair, you gave attention to the bulletin board, a small, flower memento with colorful ribbons hanging at the very top._

_This, in particular, felt very intrusive—forbidden, even, but once your eyes fell on the tiny Li’l Malbuddy keychain, you couldn’t stop. Someone was an artist, a crude picture of a young girl and a boy dressed in blue with a cape. The names “Selena” and “Nyx” were scrawled at the bottom, depicting each character. It brought a smile to your face. Then, pinned against that was a picture of a malboro with Nyx’s name directed to it, which caused you to snort into laughter. Behind that was a well-drawn art piece of a native dressed in loose leather, beads, spear, and an exotic headdress._

_Your eyes moved on. Several photographs, more of Galahd Canyon, and another of a beautiful waterfall, white streams cascading over rocks and into a pool below. Others were of people, two you recognized as a younger Nyx and Libertus, Nyx the epitome of serious, while Libertus sported a wide grin. Another of an even younger Nyx and Libertus, Nyx in between two smiling women, one older and another younger. They both wore large, colorful beads in their dark hair, and you recognized the same two women in another photograph, dressed as though at some kind of ceremony. The youngest of Nyx came from a black and white photograph, him with his arms around a young girl, an older woman, and two men. You concluded that the two women were family, most likely his mother and sister._

_Other trinkets, like a fare ticket from Galahd, Nyx’s active duty sheet, some post-it notes written in children’s handwriting, and a handwritten birthday note from Selena, whom you deemed to be his sister, based on the drawings and wording in the note. Then you turned attention to the newspaper clippings._

_“Niflheim Attack on Galahd,” one read, explaining the insurmountable number of casualties, and other titled, “Lucis Withdraws” spoke of King Mors’ decision to pull the wall in closer, leaving other territories open for attack. The smile that had lived on your face while studying the photographs disappeared. Nyx stood as the posterchild next to King Regis in another article labeled, “King Regis Forges ‘Kingsglaive’ in the Ashes of Galahd,” and illustrated the new royal guard made up of Galahdian residents, a way to fight back against those who had stolen their homes._

_As you read the articles, and then reread the birthday note, a realization dawned on you that shot you out of the chair, causing it to teeter and fall. You whirled around to the bed, startling yourself. Your heart raced in your chest as you stared at the crumpled blanket with Nyx underneath, but his steady breathing indicated no alarm or that he was awake. Taking a deep breath, you stooped to retrieve the fallen chair and placed it back under the desk. Then, you texted Crowe that you’d gotten him home safe. All the while, until you turned off the lights and closed the door behind you, you couldn’t get the revelation out of your head._

_The bulletin board acted as a small memorial to his dead family, and you were guilty of being one nosy bitch for having crossed that line._

_***_

You waited with the guards for almost an hour, nearly a quarter after one by the time Captain Drautos emerged from behind the closed doors to the conference room, and you squared yourself to meet him. The guards stood at attention, but only you were bold enough to ask him what the verdict was.

He regarded you with a smile, enough to heighten the creases at the ends of his lips and eyes. You’d seen him many times in C District, but this was the first time in your three year career that you’d actually been this close, as well as utter a word to him, and he to you. So, seeing him smile, especially at you, rendered you uncertain of what to think. His uniform wore more like the armor you’d seen in pictures depicting the old kings, his half cape moving against his body as he looked at you, but spoke to the guards.

“Please escort her to C District, to the custodial office there. Her boss is waiting.”

Then he made to return into the conference room.

Your jaw dropped, as though the muscle had withered away to nothing. “S-Sir?” you managed.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Yes?” he queried back.

You didn’t know quite where to begin. None of this made any sense. Slowly, you began, “Should I return to speak with His Majesty at all?”

He turned again and placed a hand on your shoulder, catching you off guard. He squeezed firmly, smile returning, and said, “You’ve done more than enough. You put your life on the line to chase down a suspect character, and reported it just as you should’ve. Good work.” He gave your shoulder one final squeeze before turning back on his heel toward the room.

You stopped him again, your voice sterner than you’d meant. “But what about the marshal?”

Again, he considered you, spirits high. “Just leave that to me. I’ll make sure that everything is dealt with accordingly. All you need to prioritize yourself with now is your boss and C District. I’m sure you must be tired.” With that, he offered you a nod and slipped back inside the conference room.

You were stunned, so much that you were unable to formulate a single, coherent thought as the guards led you from the corridor, down the elevator, and to a waiting car outside of the Citadel. You hardly noticed the rain as it pelted you, numb to what had just transpired and were placed in the back seat as they drove the distance, down lit city streets, the sound of rain and swishing wiper blades thumping against your ears. The guards said very little, and in murmurs that you couldn’t catch. Not that you cared. You couldn’t understand anything except that your heart hammered a million miles an hour against your rib cage, causing your body to shake in the car seat.

The rational part of you commanded yourself to remain calm until you talked to Quinzi, but the illogical part demanded to know why he was there at all. Sure, the captain appeared pleasant enough, and assured you that Cor would be dealt with. That alone warranted no concern, and you believed him when he’d said that he would take care of it.

Still, by the time the guards pulled into the parking garage, you were positive you wouldn’t be able to make it to his office before throwing up, and that was exactly what you did.

The guards were kind enough to wait in silence outside the restroom door while you upheaved dinner, and walked with shaky knees back to them. The trek to Quinzi’s office felt like the trek to the execution room, although you’d done nothing wrong. Perhaps it was the severity of everything. When you spoke to the marshal at the Fantasy Faire, he appeared upright and honest, and Ignis and Gladio spoke highly of him. To find out that he was a traitor left you more than speechless—you had no idea how to feel. 

Although you had keys, you knocked on the door to announce your presence and waited for him to open the door.

Being almost one-thirty, he looked like he’d been in a dead sleep before having to roll out of bed and come back to a place where he’d already have to be in less than five hours. He never took his eyes off you, even when he dismissed the guards. Quinzi wasn’t in uniform, and his glasses were different than what you were used to seeing on his face. He wore a Li’l Malbuddy hat and green sweatshirt with a matching logo.

“Have a seat,” he mumbled, the fatigue heavy in his voice. He staggered around his desk to sink into his own chair, and you wordlessly did the same. Then, he studied your face, as though seeing you for the first time. “Hon…I don’t even know what to say right now.”

That left you confused. Here you were, expecting some kind of congratulations, but the grave stare from his face made you realize that you were going to be receiving everything but that. 

“Did the king call you down here?” you asked, worry forcing you to cut straight to the point. Although you’d done the right thing, and Drautos assured that everything would be okay, tension bloomed inside of you. You replayed the entire scenario during your unceremonious trip to the bathroom, and wondered if vomit still lingered on your person.

He shook his head. “Actually, it was Captain Drautos, although he made it sound as though he were in the room with the king.” You flinched. Drautos? Seriously? Quinzi continued, “He told me what happened, although it’s been classified as a confidential matter. What you and I talk about in here _must_ stay within these four walls.”

You ground your teeth together, hands fidgeting in your lap. You figured as much, but understood why he needed to say it. Still, you hadn’t felt this nervous in his presence since you’d first met him, and all other mishaps, including flooding the adviser’s office, couldn’t compare to the anxiety that overwhelmed you now.

“It _was_ him,” you felt the need to say, and did so through grit teeth. “I know what I saw, and he put some weird override contraption on that alarm. I don’t know why or what he was planning, but it _was_ Cor Leonis.”

Quinzi stared at you as though you’d told him that the Astrals weren’t real and that you had proof. Then, he pulled his hands over his face and sighed again.

Captain Drautos had told him that, right? Just like he told you he’d be dealing with it. _He_ knew you were right, but maybe your boss was just having a hard time accepting it.

“No one else could’ve done it,” you said. “The above floor can’t be accessed without first deactivating the alarm panel. Jaron already explained it to me. Only the king and prince have the ability to access their personal chambers via elevator because magic is required. All other ways use key cards and alarm panels. And Cor was the only one in that corridor. When I called to him, he ran.”

Quinzi wouldn’t meet your eyes. “Hon. About what the captain said…”

“What?”

He looked at you from in between the slits of his fingers, and said into the palms of his hands, “He told me everything that you told him and the king.” The weight lifted from you like an unwanted hug and you relaxed into the chair. That was a good thing. Then all that was happening here was the normal procedure of things, filling in your boss. Maybe doing some paperwork about it. Routine things. But Quinzi continued, “However, don’t bother coming into work tomorrow.”

You felt your eyes bug from your head, that excessive weight returning to punch you right in the face.

“What?” you asked, but his words still hit like a brick wall against you. Now, you _really_ didn’t get it.

He swallowed—you saw the lump bob in his Adam’s apple, and he wouldn’t look at you anymore. “It was the captain’s decision,” he said, drawing the words from his lips long and slow. “After he told me what happened, he asked that I suspend you until they come to a conclusion in their investigation.” He paused. “For your own protection. You _did_ accuse the Royal Marshal of being a mole, Hon. It’s not something that’s being taken lightly.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. After Drautos had congratulated you, he told your boss _what?_ You couldn’t understand it, even though all the words made perfect sense. How could he tell you one thing and then tell your boss to suspend you?

You already knew the answer, but asked, “Unpaid suspension, I’m assuming?”

“Yes. This has been classified as an investigatory suspension, so our department doesn’t permit pay during your absence.”

You opened your mouth to yell, but only a squeak emerged. What the hell? _Investigatory?_

“So, because Cor’s getting investigated, _I_ lose my pay?” You combed your hand through your hair again and again. “And the king just went along with this, did he? All of a sudden, it’s Drautos making the decisions here?”

“ _Captain_ Drautos.”

You waved a hand. “Whatever. I get it. The marshal plants an override mechanism, and I’mthe bad guy.” The chair screeched as you kicked it back and rose to your feet. It took all the discipline that you could muster to not overturn Quinzi’s desk. Only now would he meet your eyes, and they appeared wary and almost nervous.

“Hon…” he began again, but trailed off.

You, on the other hand, had _plenty_ to say. “I signed a contract vowing to uphold everything Lucian and to keep the family safe. I swore an oath to keep the _royal family_ safe, and where does that get me? Unpaid suspension. Again. What kind of monarchy isthis?”

He sighed and looked away. “I also have to ask for you to hand in your keys, card key, and uniform for the time being. I’m sure it won’t be long—only a couple of days or so until they sort it all out.” Your eyes burned into him, and you were surprised that holes and smoke hadn’t begun to appear. “Please understand that this isn’t me wanting to do this, Hon.”

Again, you nodded, automatic and numb even as you unbuttoned your shirt to pass off to him. You shrugged out of the sleeves, balled it into your hands, and hurled it onto the desk. Then, you pulled the lanyard from your head and the key clip from your belt loop and dropped them on top of your shirt.

“I’d hand you my pants, but that would be sexual harassment,” you deadpanned. “But, for the record, consider this my resignation. I quit this shithole.”

He appeared defeated, rising from his chair with hands stretched toward you. “Now, don’t be like that. No one’s firing you, and I believe you when you say you saw what you saw.”

“It’s not about what _you_ believe,” you snapped back, dodging his hands. “It’s about this piece of shit monarchy and what _they_ believe. Before I left the Citadel, both the king and captain said that they’d take care of it. Well, I suppose they did. And if they need a fall guy because I’m a stupid custodian who makes peanuts for an annual salary, then I hope that Cor’s assassination attempt pans out and he gets the beheading he’s always dreamed of. But I quit.”

Whirling on your heel, you ignored your boss’ protestations and pushed yourself out through the door. The guards were waiting, but you kept walking down the hallway.

“Don’t bother escorting me,” you told them. “I’m leaving of my own accord.”

\/\/\/

Your body shook, clothes hanging from off of you, soaked from the rain. Hiding from awning to awning, dodging the pelting rain, led you to Nyx’s apartment at just a little after two in the morning. You didn’t know where else to go, mind frozen from comprehending anything. It was all like a dream, as someone could push you and their arm passing right through your shoulder. 

You’d run nearly the whole way to the JDR, stopping only to turn your phone back on, and text him several times. The entire time your phone had been off had resulted only in a single text from Libertus, who’d announced that he and the other Glaives were packing it up on account of rain.

A wise decision indeed.

You stooped over Nyx’s ugly mat and swept a hand underneath. His spare key was still there, and had been since the last time you’d spent the night. He must’ve forgotten about it being there, but it wasn’t as though there was really anything of value to rob from him.

Except that awesome game console.

The door creaked as it slowly opened, the heavy groan reminding you of a haunted castle from one of those said video games. You knocked on the inside of the door before announcing yourself, not wanting to startle Nyx into a reflex magic attack, blasting you into burnt flesh. Silence welcomed you, and your brows furrowed together as you flipped the light switch.

No sign of your brother anywhere.

The untidy bed remained untidy, and the bathroom door was ajar, darkness peeking out from within. You glanced at your wrist watch again. Two fourteen. Clearly late enough for a Glaive of his caliber to be in the land of night nights. You sent off another text before removing your wet shoes and socks to leave at the door, and padded into the bathroom to dry off. You felt bad about using the last towel he had in the linen cabinet, but forgot all about it once the shaking subsided from your body. You tousled your hair within the cloth, and ran it over your face.

Although your clothes remained soaked, you didn’t want to switch into your loan pajamas in his dresser drawer just yet. But, if Nyx wasn’t home before long, you were going to do just that before commandeering his bed. You killed the lights because your heavy eyes were sensitive to the brightness around you. It was _also_ long past your bedtime, but fatigue had left you long ago.

You made sure that you were dry enough before settling into his recliner, and operated the television with the remote left on the chair arm. He had basic cable, not that he was ever home to enjoy such commodities, and stopped when a late night rerun of the “Li’l Malbuddy” cartoon caught your eye. You’d never gotten into the show, especially since it appeared to be exclusive only in the Cavaugh region, but the little creature brought a tiny smile to your face as it skittered across the screen with its tiny legs.

It felt as though you’d only just sat down before two muffled voices came through the walls, and you stiffened. A feminine laugh, and a voice you recognized as Nyx’s. You thought to call out to him and warn him that you were inside, stealing his recliner and television away. But the door opened before you could make a decision, and the blue and white glow of the television haloed your silhouette enough for him to zone in directly on you.

He yelped, and appeared ready to blast you away into burnt flesh until you shouted, “It’s me!” Not that it seemed to help matters any. He threw the switch and a million shades of angry passed over his face like a color changing LED lamp.

With a sigh that sounded more like a growl, he said, “What are you doing here?”

For a brief moment, you found that you didn’t recognize him, which astonished you. But, perhaps, it had something to do with the navy blue button down, the collar appropriately creased on each side of his neck, and the pressed, black slacks. You weren’t even aware he’d owned a pair, and you knew his modest closet quite well.

His lady friend appeared from behind his shoulder, sporting a pink umbrella over her tiny head. It did wonders in saving her chestnut curls, which trailed like a stream down the middle of her back. She was awfully pretty, long lashes, full lips, and a curvy frame that pressed against her scarlet red dress. You even liked the slit that ran up her thigh to her hip. Nyx had definitely chosen himself a pretty gal, and, apparently, she was a Glaive at that.

When she saw you, however, she became a very angry pretty Glaive. You ignored her fury and decided to answer his question instead.

“It was a rough day at work today,” you answered and congratulated yourself on your nonchalant tone. If anything, you were a swirling, torrential storm, about to unleash fury on all things living and not. It really didn’t matter at this point. Shifting yourself in the recliner so that you were resting on your hip with your legs tucked up underneath you, you added, “I thought I’d come spend some quality time with my brother.”

“I thought you said that you didn’t have any family,” Lady Friend said, her face directed up at him, although her eyes were on you. There was a shake in her voice, and that could mean several things.

Nyx took her by the hand, but she looked as though she wanted to twist herself out of his. “I wasn’t aware that you were coming over,” he said, very calmly. “I’m kind of busy at the moment.”

“I know,” you said, but made no effort to move. If Lady Friend wanted to engage in a staring contest, you’d have her know that you were the Staring Contest Champion of the third grade. You’d take her on in a heartbeat. “But I need someone to talk to. I mean, it was a _really_ bad day at work.”

This time, Lady Friend _did_ pull her hand out of his with a noise of some disgust. “Can I speak to you outside?” she asked, although it didn’t feel like a question that begged an answer. She turned and marched out the door.

Nyx glared at you and mouthed the word, “Thanks,” before joining her outside, closing the door behind him.

You adjusted yourself again in the recliner, leaning over the arm of the chair to get a better listen. You didn’t want to appear overeager or to be eavesdropping in case he barged in again, but you realized that you didn’t have to try very hard to hear them—mostly her.

Why they were positioned directly in front of the window on the outdoor walkway, you hadn’t the vaguest idea, but it made for a better show, nonetheless.

“Is this your idea of a joke?” she hissed, but it was a rather loud hiss.

“Cilia, listen, it’s not what it looks like—”

“And _then_ you come at me with the oldest cliché in the book. Did you somehow _forget_ that you’d scheduled your fifth or sixth girlfriend for a two-thirty romp between your sheets?”

His voice lowered, but you still recognized the exasperation in his words, “It’s not like that between her and me. I had no idea she was coming over, honest.”

“Don’t think I haven’t heard the rumors, Nyx. I told you before that I’m not an easy lay like your other sleazy girlfriends, and that…” She trailed off, followed by a muffled groan. From your deduction, however, it hadn’t been stimulated by pleasure, especially when her next set of words sounded as though they were coming from behind a wall of hands pressed to her mouth, “I should’ve listened to Livie. She warned me about you, all those things you said while we were out on patrol about you having eyes for no one else but me…”

“I _do_ only have eyes for you! If you’d just listen—”

You flinched when a sharp slap caught your ears. Then, there was the sound of little clicks—from Cilia’s stilettos, no doubt—hustling across the concrete walkway. A moment later, and they faded from earshot. Pressing your lips into a firm line, you found yourself dreading the next moment, and it came too soon. The door opened again, revealing a less than enthused Nyx, a hand pressed to his cheek.

He wouldn’t meet your eyes, even when you cautiously asked, “Guess it didn’t end so hot?”

There appeared to be a million and ten things he wanted to say to you, as you gathered by the glare on his face. Instead, he kicked off his shiny, dress shoes, seated himself in the recliner across from you, and said, “I wish you would’ve shown a little more grace back there. I actually liked that girl.”

You gestured to his clothes. “Is that why you went to town, buying a new get-up?”

He leaned back into the cushion and sighed. Rubbing the reddening place on his cheek again, he said, “I’d have liked for a heads up that you were swinging by.”

“I did. Five times.”

He stared at you, incredulity budding across his face. Without a word, he used the hand free of his cheek to pull the phone from his side pocket. He unlocked it, and appeared to be scrolling the screen with his thumb, eyes studying the contents there. Then, he tossed the phone across the room until it landed on the bed and bounced into the blankets.

Exhaling long and loud, he eventually said, “So, what happened at work?”

You considered your nails, picking at the cuticles as you recounted the events of the past two hours. “Just the usual: cleaned the super high levels of the Citadel, found a strange override mechanism on the alarm panel, chased after the marshal, who’d _clearly_ planted it, and then got thanked by the king and the captain for trying to do the right thing and tattle on said marshal. Oh, and then was put on unpaid suspension for doing the right thing. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

When your eyes found Nyx, he’d grown pale and stiff. You almost wondered if, during the revisiting of your tale, he’d gone and had a heart attack.

“What?” he breathed out after a moment.

Nodding, you said, “Oh, yes. Most definitely. In fact, it was Captain Drautos whom had asked Quinzi for me to turn in my keys and uniform. So I quit.”

He jumped from the chair as though someone had pinched his ass and immediately paced the small confines of his apartment. In the same beat, you repositioned yourself in the recliner so that you sat properly, and watched him move, eyes downcast.

“You’re joking,” he said, but it sounded more for himself.

Either way, it earned a frown from you. “What, are you going to tell me that I’m lying, too?”

He shook his head, but continued to pace in perfect stride. “You can’t be for real. Tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m _not_ joking, dammit. I saw Cor Leonis at the top of the steps to an _alarmed_ hallway. There couldn’t be any other way he’d have gotten there unless he planted the override.”

He whirled on you, arms outstretched. “And you didn’t stop to think that _maybe_ he’d know the alarm code himself? He ranks pretty damn high up there, Danny. I’ve heard that he’s even a white key card holder.”

You sank into the recliner and drummed your fingers on the armrest. Still, you weren’t backing down. Even though everyone else had deterred you, the marshal’s actions stunk to Ramuh.

“Yeah, he mentioned that he has a key,” you grumbled, understanding how obvious it was that, if Cor had a white key, it would be more than likely that he’d know the alarm codes, as well. “It’s possible that the override mechanism wasn’t _actually_ an override mechanism,” you suggested. “I’m only guessing.”

Nyx hovered over you, looking to be lost in his own train of thought. His eyes darted back and forth, something you recognized long ago as a tic he had when compiling things in his head. Your suspicions proved to be correct when he said, “After you saw him, is that when you gave chase?”

“Yeah. Well, I called out to him first and then he took off through the door at the top.”

“Which corridor is that?”

“The one that leads to some High Council members’ offices, but there’s a staircase somewhere around there that goes straight up to the king’s personal chambers.” You stopped drumming your fingers, thoughtful in your own assumption of things. “I’m pretty sure that you’d need a white key card to get up there, though.” You wished you knew that part of the Citadel better. Those levels and offices were as foreign as any of the other districts you hadn’t worked.

“Then it doesn’t explain why he’d be there,” Nyx said. “I’m assuming you told the king. Is that how the captain got involved?”

You blew air through your lips and rocked in the recliner, realizing that, the more you talked it over with someone you trusted, the less sense it all made.

“Yeah,” you said. “And his Shield and some of his High Council members were there, too. I didn’t get it, they kept grilling me, like I’d been the one who’d done it, but then Drautos congratulated me in the hall after it was all done. But then he waited for me to leave before phoning my boss to have me put on unpaid suspension.” You snapped your fingers, “Oh, and get this, Ignis Scientia was in there, too. I didn’t realize he was a High Council member.”

Nyx didn’t respond. His hand scratched the back of his neck as he paced the room once more. He stopped again, his eyes turned to the wall closest to his kitchen.

“I don’t understand why the captain would do that to you,” he said.

“What I don’t get is how he’d do that to me and the _king_ could just stand back and let him. I mean, I thought Regis was the one who called the shots, not the captain.”

“Something sounds off, and we won’t know what it is until they call you back in.” He clicked his tongue in his mouth and added, “You need to contact your boss and withdraw your resignation.”

You snorted. “No way. I’m done with that trash hole.”

He looked your way, face void of any reasoning. In fact, he appeared quite angry. “Don’t say that you came all the way here, wrecked _my_ night, and then don’t have any plans to fix this.”

You matched his resolve, rocking forward until the flats of your feet touched the cold floor. You pressed your fingers into the leather of the armrests, with elbows lifted, positioned to pounce. “Well, _pardon me_ for ruining your date night. If you’d answered your stupid phone, you’d have known I was here so you could take your Lady Friend back to _her_ place to screw her.”

He gave you the hand, palm faced in your direction. “Don’t start acting like that, all right? It’s late, and I’m not going to tolerate it. You know as well as I do that up and quitting your job solves nothing.”

“It solves plenty,” you retorted, jumping to your feet. You didn’t approach him, but squared yourself to appear more intimidating. He stood between you and the front door, and you eyed your shoes, knocked over from when he and Cilia had first walked in. “How am I supposed to respect a king who refuses to listen just because the subject in question is a stupid custodian?”

“You don’t know all of the facts, yet. You may have been put on suspension for a good reason, in case something were to happen.”

“Like _what,_ huh?” You rolled your eyes, groaning. “The marshal was sitting in the same room as me and not _once_ was he asked his side of the story. Only me. Then I got kicked out and sent to Quinzi’s office like some fourth grader going to see the principal.”

Nyx massaged his temples, looking more than done for the night. Then he pulled his hands over his face and blew air into them. “Look,” he said after a moment of silence, “you’re heated right now, and it’s understandable. But you can’t make rash decisions like quitting your job.”

Your jaw tightened, eyes locked on his fatigued frame. You’d hoped he’d have been a bit more supportive of your decision, but it was clear that he was pretty pissed about not getting laid after all.

“You don’t have the right to tell me whether or not I can quit,” you said.

His hands slapped his sides, and he snapped, “Then what the hell did you come here for? Sympathy? Congratulations for quitting the best gig you had going since you’ve got _zero_ other plans lined up for the future? Tell me what you want me to say and I’ll say it.”

You couldn’t put a word to the pain building in your chest. The conversation had escalated before you’d realized it, and his words smashed through you like he’d put a hammer through your trailer window. Unexpected, sure, but the dull ache left you shaking. He, on the other hand, showed no signs of remorse, and that hurt worse. Numb and foggy-headed over it all, you automatically moved around him, stooped to seize your sopping socks and shoes, and didn’t bother to put them on until you were long out the door and down the elevator.

He never stopped you. Not even once.

_***_

_For the full duration of two weeks following taking Nyx home, you stayed away from Yamachang’s. Not because you were fighting with the Glaives or anything like that, but because you’d suspected that Vico had found out where you’d been sneaking off to spend your lunch breaks or free time while he worked. He’d been more than distant lately, talking to you very little, spending time away from home, and that worried you, especially since you were quickly approaching your two year anniversary._

_The night of, you made reservations to a little Accordian themed restaurant in town that he liked, but was impossible to get into, as it was always booked months in advance. He remarked that he’d only ever been able to get in twice in the many years he’d lived in Insomnia, and both times were because he’d been with the right person at the right time—a high ranking member of the Crownsguard, or someone like that._

_He was working, but you thought to surprise him by taking the night off from your own job, dressed in something sexy, yet tasteful. You’d done your hair via online videos, and it took you hours with the curler to get it the way you wanted, even burning yourself twice. You planned on batting your mascara caked eyelashes at him from over the counter until he agreed to take the night off, too._

_But, when you emerged through the doors of Passiflora-Incarnara, he was nowhere to be seen. In fact, the woman working told you, he’d been scheduled off the entire week because he’d asked for the time off. This, you hadn’t known because he’d directly told you not to come bother him at work. Now, in a position of demanding answers, you wished you’d stopped by sooner._

_Your fingers were already through skittering across the keys of the keyboard before you’d even left, and fired off a text asking where he was, although it felt like a vain hope that he’d reply before the appointed reservation time._

_That reservation had been exceedingly difficult to secure, and you owed Lajos_ _**hard,** _ _considering that it was his father-in-law’s place, and Father-In-Law apparently never budged when making exceptions for his beloved restaurant. It was the Accordian way._

_You slumped against the storefront, eyes burning into the dimmed screen as you anxiously awaited a reply. But, as you feared, nothing came. Then you called him—twice. Voicemail both times._

_“You look all dressed up with no place to go.”_

_Eyes darting right in the direction of the voice, you were astonished to find Nyx Ulric approaching you from the direction of Yamachang’s. He was still in uniform, minus the coat, but something about the way he looked at you made you end your third call attempt and drop the phone into your purse._

_He appeared apologetic, the way his eyebrows pushed together, his jaw taut, and eyes evasive after standing directly in front of you. Peering around him since it was too difficult to look over his shoulder, you saw the sitting figures of Crowe and Libertus at their usual table. No alcohol that you could spot, so it must’ve been break time._

_Then, you sighed, like a child whose favorite toy had gone missing. “I can’t get in touch with Vico,” you said._

_He nodded, pushing his tongue into his cheek. In a much lower voice that most certainly sounded apologetic, he said, “I know.”_

_You frowned. “How could you know? You only just walked over.”_

_“No.” Then he met your stare, eyes firm, the color of a tide storm with gathering clouds and lightning overhead. That stare pricked the back of your forearms, hair rising on your skin. “I’ve known for a while. I just didn’t know how to say anything.”_

_Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you knew what was coming before he’d pulled his own phone from his pocket, pressed a few buttons, and then turned the screen to your face. There, in high quality definition that only a model of his phone type could offer, was a picture zoned in of two people. You wished you could deny it, but there sat Vico on a stool in some bar or establishment, his arm slung over a skinny, little redhead whom you’d never seen before. She was dressed a like pole dancer who’d just put some of her clothes back on, make-up thick and lipstick as red as you knew that your face was turning. You couldn’t look away, no matter how much you wanted to, and Nyx’s thumb swiped left on the screen, revealing another photograph, Vico’s face smashed into the redhead’s, his hand placed firmly on her chest. A third photograph, of a different angle._

_“I didn’t want to say anything,” Nyx said, his voice breaking the terrible curse you were under. You reached out for the phone, and he let you have it. As you flipped through the pictures, zooming in with a pinch of your finger, he added, “I didn’t think it was my place.”_

_“This can’t be real,” your breathed, eyes tracing his lips against hers. You knew it to be untrue, even as the words, “This has to be edited,” left your mouth._

_Nyx scoffed. “Oh,_ _**really?** _ _” He reached to take the phone from you, but you dodged his grasp._

_You flipped back to the first picture, the way Vico’s hand pressed against the redhead’s chest, the familiar smile on his face with the flush across his cheeks. He used to look that way at you, before you moved to Insomnia—that smile had been the reason why._

_Everything that tumbled from your mouth felt stale and generic. Still, you said, “Yeah. You stole Tredd’s girlfriend, after all. How do I know that you’re not trying to break me and Vico up?”_

_“_ _**This** _ _is the thanks I get for looking out for you, huh?” He reached for his phone again, but you evaded him. “I thought that since you took me home a couple of weeks ago, I’d return the favor, but clearly, it’s been a waste of time.”_

_Your eyes shot up to his, searching through the blue waves of their tidal storm for answers. He rose to that challenge, eyes narrow and lips pressed into a line so tight that you thought they’d break on his face._

_“I don’t_ _**steal** _ _women from their boyfriends,” he said after a moment. “And, for the record, it was_ _**your** _ _boy who’d done the stealing. From_ _**me.** _ _”_

_Like another blow under that tidal wave, you felt yourself drowning. Your dignity—no, your sanity couldn’t take much more._

_“A little more than a year ago, I had someone that I considered special,” he continued, reaching out for his phone again. This time, he didn’t try to take it—just held out an expectant palm until you obliged. “Vico likes hanging out with the Glaives since Tredd’s his best friend, so it was easy for him to meet her—Floressa Deleon. Look her up on MyFace if you don’t believe me. You seem like a social media buff. I’ll bet you can find pictures of her with both him and me.” He stuffed the phone back into his pocket and appeared ready to leave. “They obviously didn’t last long since you’re in the picture now.”_

_“Today is mine and Vico’s two year anniversary,” you said, as though it made any kind of difference. It shouldn’t have, especially after seeing the pictures, but it had meant so much to you. Even back then, he’d been cheating on you._

_Nyx nodded. “So then he had you both at the same time. I’m sorry.”_

_You didn’t know what it was about the way he said those last few words, or if it had been a long time coming, but you felt yourself break in half where you stood, the tears falling from your eyes like a damaged faucet. You hadn’t meant for it, and hadn’t meant to wail, but, once Nyx pressed you into his chest with arms wrapped tightly around you, you screamed into his shirt until you thought you’d faint._

_He held you firmly, rocking you as he mumbled apologies into your ear. The purse dropped from your grip and you seized the fabric of his shirt between your fingers. Time passed in painful stretches as you released the pent up cries from inside of you. You felt dizzy. You wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear._

_“I moved here for him,” you shouted. Your words ended up absorbed into his shirt, but you thought that he had heard you anyway. “I gave up everything and came here.”_

_He shushed you and rubbed your back, murmuring comforting words that came as static against your ears. Then, when you were certain that you couldn’t stand anymore, you collapsed into his arms, apologetic as deadweight, but he held you as easily as a baby, and then asked if you would walk with him._

_You didn’t think that you could, but he led you away from the storefront and Yamachang’s, arms wrapped around you to guide you._

_“First thing’s first,” he said after a long time. You weren’t wailing anymore, but the tears fell in steady streams down your face. You stopped in the shallow mouth of an empty alleyway, away from the pedestrians moving to and fro on the street. “We need to get you out of his place. Before he comes home, preferably.” His arms slackened around you._

_You dabbed at your eyes, the tear tracks dampening the side of your hand. “And go where?” you asked. “I don’t exactly have any friends to go stay with.”_

_He paused, and you heard the grunt in the back of his throat. Then, “You can stay with me for a couple of days. After that, we’ll figure out something for you.”_

_Your eyes shot up, but he wasn’t looking at you. The ends of his lips stretched into a flat line, almost uncomfortable. His suggestion wasn’t what you imagined. It made you both anxious and grateful._

_“But we should grab your things as soon as possible. It’ll get a little messy if he comes home while you’re packing.”_

_You didn’t know what to say, and couldn’t feel much of anything. You wanted to text Vico and call him every dirty thing you could think of. You wanted to curse him and set his apartment ablaze and do every terrible thing that came to mind. You might’ve, too, if someone rational like Nyx hadn’t been there to stop you every time you pulled your phone from your purse, or pry Vico’s furniture from your hands to keep from throwing it while you packed._

_As promised, Nyx let you stay with him for two nights while you got your bearings straight. Most of the time you felt as though you were only functioning because you had to, and only on autopilot. Whenever you’d zone out, he’d knock you back into the present, whether in the form of conversation, about your job or Pryham, or a movie that he’d talk through anyway. He made sure you got to work the next two days without hassle, and waited until your shift ended to bring you back to his place._

_Although it took longer than you’d anticipated, Vico eventually_ _**did** _ _get back to your text, which transitioned into anger at having realized your absent belongings in the apartment. You didn’t know how he found out, but Vico became acutely aware of who’d blabbed his secret affair, and that you’d gone to stay with arch nemesis, Nyx Ulric. The texts from Vico never offered an apology, only a turning of the tables that accused you of having a secret relationship with the Glaive, and, thus began the rumors that haunted you for years to come._

_Nyx’s apartment was small, as you knew, and he let you have the bed while he sprawled out on the recliner. By the third day, Crowe approached you and asked for you to move in with her until you could find your own place. Her place was no bigger than Nyx’s, but it took the heat off of you both as the rumors circulated the Glaive halls, and your own place of work._

_You eventually changed your phone number as Vico’s hateful texts intensified, and Tredd made certain to let you know that you weren’t a welcomed sight in his presence. It pushed you on, determined to make your independence in a city that no longer begged a reason for you to stay. You remained with Crowe for two weeks before landing yourself a steal of a trailer out in Ghetto Insomnia. The place was on a mechanic’s lien, but the park manager was eager to rent it out._

_Although you had no credit to your name, renter’s history, nor anything to recommend you, the favor came from Quinzi, who’d grown fond of you during your short working time as a custodian. It could’ve been because you’d told him you’d planned to quit and move home, and he felt sorry for you. You’d even recounted the terrible night you found out that your boyfriend had been cheating on you, and the rumors that followed. Quinzi’s friend owned the trailer complex, and was willing to rent it to you for a fraction of the cost. Whatever the reason, you were grateful to discover that you had good friends abundant around you after all._

_A month following the heartbreak fire that had razed your life to the ground, with only ash remaining, you felt yourself rising again, and swore to press on, even though you had no idea where that would take you._

_***_

Your screams shifted into tyrannical laughter as the pain receptors in your brain translated that you were, indeed, experiencing mega, _mega_ amounts of agony. Jumping out from under the hood of your jalopy car, you squeezed your injured pinky in between the fingers of your other hand, not caring that every curse and smutty word fired from your lips in rapid succession was left for all the world to hear. Blood pooled under the skin of your pinky where the skin hadn’t quite broken, but the swelling came on almost instantaneously, and you weren’t sure if the redness produced was from your squeezing or natural signs of suffering.

Normally, changing out a car battery wouldn’t be this hard, but you hadn’t driven the car since last winter, and corrosion ate up your battery like a yummy dessert. The battery was already old, sure, but your neglect expedited its death, apparently. It pissed you off to no end—here you were, trying to get yourself back to Pryham in a desperate attempt of finding where you wanted to go next—not that Pryham had been your first choice—but, if you _were_ going to follow through quitting your job at the Citadel before they had the chance to drag you in for a beheading after accusing the marshal of heinous, _terrible_ things, you needed a home base, and couldn’t afford to keep your ratty mobile home without work.

Of _course_ it would be your luck that your car wouldn’t start the day you decided to pack up and head home. And, of _course_ the battery wasn’t salvageable. You needed a new one and it had been a hell of a trip, lugging the new battery all the way to the bus station downtown. It weighed almost as much as a drunken Libertus, from that one time he passed out on Nyx’s kitchen floor. You made the poor decision to attempt to drag the larger Glaive out into the main room with no help from Nyx, whom was equally drunk. You pulled a muscle in your back because of it, and were down for the count for several days. 

The store clerk charged you an upfront battery disposal fee that he was willing to reimburse once you brought the old one back—just to ensure you didn’t just dump the old one in a garbage bin somewhere. Yeah. Like you were jumping at the first opportunity to haul the old battery back to the bus stop. As it was, you were having the worst time trying to pry the nut and washer from off of the rusted, corroded mess that held your battery in place—which was how you smashed your pinky.

You pricked your finger to let the blood drain into your bathroom sink, then disinfected and bandaged it before returning to the task of removing the old battery. You were halfway through removing the second nut with the open end of a ten millimeter wrench, while pouring soda on the corrosion, when a shadow haunted your line of sight.

“When’s the last time you even drove this thing, Danny?”

Nyx’s voice startled the soda can right out of your hand, and it toppled onto the engine and emptied the remainder of its contents right there, pooling next to your oil cap. Shooting him a sideways glare, you seized the can, crunched it in your hand, swollen pinky and all, and chucked it over your shoulder. It bounced off of something metal from the light _chink_ made from far off.

“Last year,” you muttered and chiseled away the rest of the soda-muddied corrosion with a screwdriver.

You expected him to at least chuckle, but his tone was dry as he said, “Even if you’re not driving the thing, you’re supposed to start it up every so often to keep this from happening.”

Smashing the end of the screwdriver deep into the tan mess harder than you’d meant, you grumbled, “Are you here to lecture me again? If so, you’re welcome to leave. Street’s over there,” and you gestured to it with your other hand, the one holding the wrench.

He was silent for only a moment, and you figured that he had to have seen your bandaged finger because he seized the screwdriver and wrench before pushing you out of the way with his body.

“Excuse _you,_ ” you snapped, but didn’t protest. Hidden slightly behind him, you arched your body so that you could watch him work.

He stooped over the battery and made quick work of what had taken you a lifetime to accomplish.

“You suck at this,” he said, as though you didn’t already know. You’d watched half a dozen videos on the process, and _still_ managed to smash your finger. It wasn’t like you didn’t know what you were doing—you just weren’t a mechanic and lacked the confidence to do it by yourself. He added, “I’ll replace it for you.”

“You don’t have to.”

“Shut up, Danny.”

You did, only because, secretly, you _did_ want him to replace the battery. You were over it and didn’t mind if someone else, even Nyx, did the dirty work. Your finger hurt like hell. He had the nut popped in fifteen seconds, tops, and waved the box end of the wrench at you.

“Should’ve been using this side, not the open end, especially with this much rust and corrosion. You got a socket wrench?”

You blanched. “A what?”

He rolled his eyes. “Never mind. Where’s the new battery?” You gestured to the other side of the car and he went back to work, popping the cords and pulling the old battery. “Seriously, you’re a custodian and you don’t know what a socket wrench is?”

“I probably _do,_ ” you retorted, “but not by its name. Really, are you here to lecture? Because I don’t need it right now.”

Two days after your last argument, you were still a bit sore with him. It was bad enough that you were on unpaid suspension— _again—_ for something that you thought had been the right thing to do. And all Nyx could do was bitch, just like JP about your poor life decisions.

Nyx sighed and hovered over the old battery, hands gripped on the handle. “No,” he said after a moment and grunted as he heaved the thing out from under your hood. 

It looked less daunting for him as he carried it to the other side of your trailer, much less than how you remembered waddling down the street, bent at the back, hauling the battery as it swayed between your legs. You must’ve looked pretty damn stupid, especially after the nth person giggled at you, but none of those jerks even offered to help carry it for you, even if only for a few feet.

Crossing your arms, you said, “Then why _are_ you here?”

He waited to answer until he’d set the new battery in place. Setting himself to reinstall the nuts and washers, he said, “I went to talk to Captain Drautos on your behalf. I was hoping he’d shed some light on why he’d ordered for your suspension.”

The confession left you surprised, although, it shouldn’t have, really. Maybe it did because you two had just had an argument, but it left you hopeful, nonetheless. You wanted to know, too.

“Really? How did it go?”

Nyx gave something between a snort and a chuckle. “He said I was too close to the situation, since we’re friends. Guess he was worried that my involvement would compromise things, especially since I wasn’t supposed to have known about it in the first place.” Staring at you from over his shoulder, he said, “Put me, Libertus, and Crowe all on paid suspension since we’d gone in to defend you together.”

“ _Paaaaaaaid?_ ” You groaned. It shouldn’t have been the first thing out of your mouth. You knew that. But it was the second time in three months that your monthly wages had been destabilized and it just wasn’t fair.

“Wow.” He laughed, but it wasn’t sincere. “I was expecting more of a ‘thank you, Nyx, for sticking your neck out for me,’ kind of approach.” Then he turned back to the battery, installing it with much more finesse than you had.

“I _am_ thankful,” you said, watching him work. “It just sucks that my department doesn’t believe in paid suspension.”

“Well, while he wouldn’t tell me the motivation, he asked me to warn you to not go around telling other people about what happened. You’re still under contract.”

“No I’m not,” you retorted. “I quit, remember? So what’s he going to do, make me disappear?”

He chuckled. “He might.”

“Drautos is an idiot,” you mumbled and stuffed your hands into your pocket, then winced at the sting from your injured pinky. Bringing it to your face, you realized you’d made it bleed again.

“I can understand their wanting to keep everything under wraps. After all, you _did_ accuse the Royal Marshal of being a mole, you know.”

“It _was_ him,” you grumbled and averted your eyes to the front façade of your trailer. It needed a paint job something awful. Too bad that you weren’t planning on sticking around for much longer to have it done. “I know what I saw, Nyx. And the king kept asking me to repeat it over and over, like he didn’t believe me. And then Drautos congratulates me, only to stab me in the back.”

“I don’t think he stabbed you in the back. I think he was just following protocol. If they’d really felt like you’d done something wrong, they’d have detained you. So someone up there likes you.”

You couldn’t imagine whom. All that you knew was that King Regis couldn’t be the sort of guy you’d heard great stories about if he was willing to stand back while his captain called for your suspension. Here you were, saving him and his kingdom from some kind of an assassination, and he had the gall to question your eyesight. Insult to injury put you on unpaid suspension, but you found yourself still wounded by his skepticism.

“Anyway,” Nyx continued, leaning closer to the battery. “I thought about what you said and, since I don’t have to report to work for a while, I figured you could use some time away from here before you make any more unwise, rash decisions.” He didn’t miss a beat before adding, “I even took the liberty of paying your boss a visit. Told him not to take your resignation seriously. He was more than eager to oblige.”

“You did _what?_ ” You made a face at his back and kicked the dirt behind him. A small clump hit the back of his boot, but he didn’t appear to notice. You’d been too poor and lazy to care for anything other than dirt in your front yard, although grass would’ve been nice to have. 

“Yeah,” he said, hands hard at work. “You can thank me later.”

“I’m not thanking you at all,” you retorted and kicked more dirt at him. You should’ve known that Nyx would get involved up to his eyebrows in all of your messy affairs. It was too late to do anything about it now. You just hoped that Quinzi wouldn’t call. Like, _ever._ You really meant it when you said that you were quitting. “Too bad I didn’t get put on _paid suspension._ Kind of leaves me in the broke department for doing anything fun.”

“What, do you not save money from every paycheck?” He must’ve finished because he stepped back, lowered the prop, and let the hood slam shut. 

The noise thundered against your ears and you flinched. You hoped he hadn’t damaged your car by letting it drop. It might’ve been a jalopy piece of crap, but it was _your_ jalopy piece of crap.

“Don’t worry about the expenses,” he continued, passing you the wrench and screwdriver. “I’ve got it covered.”

The prospect confused you. It wasn’t like Nyx to offer you any kind of vacation, especially one that had no price limit or ending. He kept his hand on the hood, dragging it across the top as he walked around to the side of your car and peered in through the passenger window.

“Pretty gross in there,” he said and smiled. Before you could snap back, he continued, “So all that’s left is the destination. Where do you want to go?” Again, you didn’t have the chance to say a word before he cut in, “We’re not taking this crap junk, of course. I’ve already got a rental car waiting at the Citadel. But make sure you start driving this to keep everything running smoothly. Otherwise, why’re you paying insurance on it?”

“Stop talking so much and let me answer at least one of your questions,” you snapped, head spinning from every single thing he was throwing at you. He was good at that, subversion. The girls he dated appeared to like it, but you knew his smarmy ways. You wondered if Cilia was talking to him, yet.

He laughed at you and you turned to face your neighbor’s trailer, one that put yours to shame with its cookie-cutter landscape work, fresh pine paint job, and Li’l Malbuddy garden statue on the small front step. When you’d first moved here, it had been your goal to make your trailer look at least half as decent as everyone else’s around you. You still weren’t sure what happened to that dream.

“We leave today,” Nyx said. He must’ve been feeling daring. Or pushy. “And seeing that all of your bags are already packed in your car, we can leave now.”

“I was headed back to Pryham,” you confessed, eyes on your neighbor’s lattice that separated your trailer from his.

“We can go there if you want.”

“You’re being awfully persistent about this,” you said, slowly turning back to him. He leaned against the passenger side of your car, almost like it was his own and he was offering to take you joyriding with him. Fat chance. “Don’t I get a say in this?”

“You do. I’m asking where you want to go.”

“What if I don’t want to go with you?”

“That’s fine. You can ride with Libertus and Crowe instead.”

Confusion welled inside of you and rendered your voice nearly hollow, “They’re coming to Pryham?”

He shrugged. “Only if that’s where you say we’re going.”

You were shaking your head before the, “Hell no,” tumbled from your mouth.

The bastard grinned again and you couldn’t stop yourself from doing the same. He certainly had a way about him, and you found that you could understand why the ladies liked him after all. Even Crowe.

“I was thinking of moving home.” Your voice quieted when the thought prompted you to sober. “I was going to call Quinzi when I got there and give him my no-week notice. Really tell him that I meant it when I said I was quitting.”

He gestured to himself. “Well, that’s why I’m here.”

You scoffed and thrust your pointer finger at him. “As if _you_ knew I was planning to move home.”

He shrugged again. “Call it a Glaive’s intuition.”

His response soured you. “Couldn’t you just have called it ‘brother’s intuition?’”

He playfully slapped the side of your car, much to your displeasure, and said, “C’mon, Danny, I’m paying for that rental car by the minute. Pick a place so I can text Libertus and Crowe, and let’s get the hell out of Insomnia for a few days.”

Your mind drew a complete blank. This still didn’t make any sense to you. But Nyx was a man who often made little sense, even though he was a steaming unraveler of mysteries on the inside. 

He began rattling off places before you had a chance to answer. Again. Then he said, “Galdin Quay?”

That sent alarm bells off in your head. Although you’d always wanted to introduce him to your father and JP, this wasn’t how you wanted to do it. And Galdin Quay was too close to Pryham. But you lied, instead. “It’ll be crazy packed this time of year. I’ll bet we couldn’t even get a reservation.”

He beamed. “I’ll bet I can.”

“No.” You shook your head. “Next.”

“Longwythe?”

“What, are we going on a backpacking expedition? I thought we were going somewhere to relax.”

“I never said anything of the sort. Now, pick a place already.”

You mused for a long, uninterrupted period of silence, which was a feat for Nyx. You wanted to go far away, but wasn’t sure what Nyx’s budget ceiling implied, since he hadn’t set one. He said you’d be gone for at least a few days—

“You’ve said before that you wanted to ride chocobos,” he cut in after a while. “How about we head out to Wiz’s?”

Eyes widening, you managed, “Do you have any idea how far away that is? We’d be going cross-country.”

“I do know, and not quite. But you didn’t say ‘no,’ so Wiz’s it is.” He tapped your car again and pointed to your trailer. “Go lock up and make sure everything is good to be gone for a while. I’m going to text Libertus and Crowe.”

“I’m not one of your Glaives,” you countered, but marched yourself into the trailer nonetheless. When you closed the door behind you, you beamed until your face hurt. 

If this was his way of apologizing, you were humbled.

Gods, you loved that man. 

_***_

_Eight months following the breakup, you believed yourself to finally be standing on your own feet again. The heat of July marked past your one year living situation in Insomnia, and you secretly celebrated with your Glaive friends down at Yamachang’s. To them, however, it was just another night, and you knew that, too. You still weren’t old enough to drink, but you loved Yamachang’s iced tea, and felt that you’d be all right counting down the next two years until you turned twenty-one._

_For the first time, you felt like you had friends._ _**Real** _ _friends. Crowe and Libertus texted you for every hang out, rather than you skulking in the shadows, waiting to be invited. Despite the rumors between you and Nyx, they remained true, and were your closest confidants. As for Nyx, he assumed a slightly different position in your life. You sipped your iced tea as you watched him, as you had so many nights before, arguing with Libertus, both drunk off their asses, while Crowe berated them. It felt perfect._

_Nyx was nothing like Vico’d described, and actions spoke louder than any rumor you’d heard. And, speaking of rumors, he taken the new ones regarding you in stride, sweeping them from his shoulder like dust mites. He stood by you, picking up the pieces as two more relationships following Vico had left you sobbing on the floor. You’d become familiar with his moniker, “hero,” and slowly began to understand why. JP had nothing on Nyx, as the Glaive mothered you and made sure that you were always doing the right thing._

_Dared you to say it? The Glaives had become family._ _**Nyx** _ _was family._

_But, no, you thought as you continued to sip the iced tea as a measure of just having something to do—not that you were actually thirsty at that particular moment. You couldn’t voice that. It sounded too weird. But the nickname, “Danny,” stuck on you like hot glue, and you’d grown fond of it. He was the only one allowed, and you made sure to let everyone else who tried know it._

_That night, when Crowe walked Libertus home and you were tasked with walking Nyx, it crossed your mind how vaguely familiar this all felt. The only difference now was that he let you near him—touch him to help him. With his arm looped over your shoulders and yours around his waist, you walked him down the market strip, toward the long set of stairs that would take you over the track. Nyx had grown chattier since you’d been allowed into their lives, and complained that Libertus cheated during that last arm wrestling match._

_You giggled and walked. Tonight, he wasn’t quite as drunk as the first time you’d walked him home. Tonight, you didn’t have to shoulder all of his weight while you talked. It was friendlier._

_He and the others had helped you move in when you received the keys to the trailer. He chastised you in good humor when you bought the jalopy car from off Ben’s Market, an online garage sale or whatever sort of site. You’d totally gotten ripped off, the car having way more problems than advertised. And, at work, he’d make time for you, especially if you had a lunch break at the same time._

_JP was curious about the new man you talked more about than your own boyfriend. You hadn’t yet confessed that you and Vico were no more—even had two exes past him. If you had, JP would’ve guilt-tripped you into moving back home for sure. You’d introduce Nyx to them someday, when the newness of you having left home had worn away from your family’s mind. Besides, you were enjoying Insomnian culture, the notion of working for the crown, and your Glaive friends._

_Nyx was in the middle of chatting about training, when Libertus cheated during sparring matches, when you suddenly blurted out, “I love you.”_

_He halted as though running into a wall, nearly taking you down with him. Your confession must’ve sobered him, because, when you lifted your eyes to him, they’d lost the glossy film they usually got when he drank. His arm fell from your shoulder, but you doubted that he could stand by himself, so you kept an arm around his waist, embarrassed. It hadn’t been the thing you wanted to confess, but it ate a hole in you like acid._

_Before he could respond, you hastily added, “You’ve shown more care for me than I’ve ever known in my life, and I want you to know that I’m grateful for that. Even at my brattiest, and when you’ve stuck your neck out for me, I’ve always been grateful to have met someone like you.” Your eyes fell, nervous by the discomfort he displayed now. “I’ve wanted to ask for a long while now, but never had the guts.” You lifted your eyes again, and then laughed. The fear on his face indicated so much more than you’d expected, and realized what must’ve been going through his mind. “No, no, no, you dolt. I’m not_ _**confessing** _ _to you. Geez.” You would’ve shoved him, but he’d have fallen over for sure. “I want you to be my big brother. I love you like one.”_

_The color disappeared from his face as though there were a hidden drain somewhere inside his brain. He gently pulled back from you, swaying on his feet. You thought he’d topple, but his outstretched hand kept you at a distance._

_“A…brother?” he echoed. You nodded. “Danny…”_

_You’d have plenty of time to think about it, how the word would’ve caused him some kind of distress, given what you knew about Selena, which wasn’t much beyond her death. He turned from you, his eyes cast to the ground. You’d been the buzzkill, you realized. Perhaps it hadn’t been a good thing to confess after all._

_Then, he reached up to tousle your hair. His nails dug into your scalp, causing you to yelp, and he pulled you into a side hug._

_“If I have to stand any longer, I’m pretty sure I’m not going to make it home before puking,” he said, and returned his arm to your shoulder._

_He walked with you, resuming his conversation about Libertus’ cheating, and ways he could prank the larger Glaive later. You couldn’t deny that the conversation had left you feeling bittersweet, the fact that he hadn’t commented on anything._

_Then again, he hadn’t said_ _**no,** _ _and that was all that mattered._

_***_

You slapped the roof of the car the moment Nyx crossed the Insomnian Bay Bridge and he glanced questioningly at you. You answered with a shrug and lopsided smile before he returned his gaze to the road. He cranked the radio, some new, Lucian pop band blaring through the speakers. It wasn’t your kind of music and you knew it sure as hell wasn’t his. You’d asked for him to throw on some of his favorite Galahdian music, but he laughed off your request and turned on hip hop instead. That started the war of the radio that you felt that neither of you won.

The scenery rushed by in streaks of color as he sped down the highway, passing a string of cars going slightly under the speed limit. It had been a little over a year since you’d last come this way, by bus, going home to see your father and brother for a week. You hadn’t been so eager to get back to Insomnia, you remembered, having endured JP’s lecturing for the duration of it. Now, you were crossing that bridge again, on a road trip—the first ever with your Glaive friends. The first ever with Nyx. The most you’d ever done was camp with them just at the wall’s edge, where you felt that you _actually_ were on a trip.

Now, you would be.

Crowe and Libertus text Nyx to say that they were running behind, but that you’d all meet up in Hammerhead. A grin split your face until you were sure that the skin would peel away. Without asking for permission, you pressed the button to roll the top back, and he swatted your hand to stop you. Too late. The wind blasted your ears in a delightful roar that hammered the realization that you were here, in this moment, and getting away from Insomnia with those that you loved never felt better.

As you descended down into the valley, toward the Crestholm Pass, you recalled the little yellow car from your seat on the bus, disappearing into the sea of other cars as you took the ramp up toward the Insomnian city limits. For now, you’d forget about Insomnia. Whatever lay ahead, you’d deal with it another day.

July 10th. M.E. 755. Two days after quitting your job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Yeah. That happened.
> 
> It's a lot to take in, and I commend you guys for getting though it @_@ As promised, everything, from the flooding of Iggy's office to this whole garbage mess with Cor will be explained next chapter to start us off on the next story arc, as well as good ol' Iggy and what his game is :D
> 
> By the way, the wheelchair elevator incident? True story XD 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it and see you next chapter!
> 
> ~ML


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